The Women of Lilac Street

by Annie Murray

  ‘I bet the chimney hasn’t been swept in years,’ Jen fretted. ‘We could have a fire. Burn down the whole yard!’

  ‘Well, we could,’ Freda said dryly. ‘Or we could try looking on the bright side.’

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ Bill said, wheezing. He was also perspiring heavily, his face nearly as pink as the flowers outside. ‘I’d’ve thought it was hot enough already.’

  ‘I need a cuppa,’ Jen persisted. ‘And how’re we s’posed to cook, else?’

  Once they had brought along the second, smaller, cartload of their things – this time without Harry Southgate’s help – and had wrenched themselves away from number nine Lilac Street, the day suddenly felt like a holiday, especially when nearly all the other children were at school.

  A pale, almost silent little boy appeared out of the flower house, number four. He was accompanied by two baby sisters who were too young to be at school and all of them stared apprehensively at the new arrivals. The little girls stood half hidden behind the boy, who positively cringed when John went over to him.

  ‘What’s your name?’ John asked him, towering over him.

  ‘Peter,’ he muttered, his pasty face turned towards the ground. ‘I’ve ’ad the mumps.’

  ‘Are there any more of you – at school like?’ John asked.

  ‘A brother and a sister,’ the boy mumbled, squinting defiantly. ‘My brother’s bigger ’un you.’

  ‘So what?’ John said, strolling away scornfully.

  Jen had asked the men to carry the big bedstead up to the smaller room. Once it was put back together, it just fitted in. She and her mother were going to have to share. And the children would sleep, as they had in the attic before, all in together.

  Aggie came upstairs that afternoon to find her mother and grandmother looking in through the door of their room, where there was scarcely space to move round the bed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mom,’ Jen said. Her apology contained regret for all she knew of her mother’s life, that they were back in a place just like where they started.

  ‘Well.’ Freda edged her way in and sank on to the mattress. ‘That’s life, bab – ups and downs, swings and roundabouts. All I want just now is to be able to lie down for a bit – just anywhere. And this looks like a perfectly good bed to me.’

  She lay back, her face pale and pinched with pain, nursing her arm to her chest. ‘O-o-oh, dear,’ she muttered, closing her eyes.

  ‘D’you want a cuppa tea?’ Jen asked her wearily. However tired she was herself, and however much she had to report for duty at the fish shop that evening, she could see that her mother was all in. ‘Come on down and leave her,’ she whispered to Aggie.

  They went down the twisting staircase. The room looked a little bit more cheerful with their few bits and pieces in it. Bill had got the range going and the room was stiflingly hot. They had brought the last of their coal with them. Aggie could hear John and the others, now back from school, running about in the yard, but it was hot out there as well and she could see Mom needed her help.

  Jen sank down on a chair as they waited for the kettle to boil again.

  ‘I need summat to eat – we all do,’ she said. ‘Get that loaf out, it’s in the crock there.’ As Aggie was doing as she was asked and trying to locate the bread knife, her mother said bitterly, ‘I never thought it’d come to this. Not all this again – cowing bug-ridden place. I’ll have to stove it tomorrow.’

  Aggie found she didn’t mind as much as she had thought she might. Babs was in the next yard and other things were not so far away. Everything felt strange and sad these days, and the aching absence of their father was always there, but at least in this house they were not expecting to see him, to hear his voice or his coughing from the bedroom upstairs. It put his death just a little bit further away. She was too young really to understand what it was like for her mother to have lost the man she loved and to have this step backwards, further into the poverty she had watched her own mother battle as a child.

  ‘Never mind, Mom,’ she said, sawing at the bread. ‘It’s not so bad. It’ll be all right.’

  As if seeing her daughter with new eyes, Jen looked over at her. ‘You’re a good kid,’ she said.

  And for the first time that day, at this rare gentleness, it was Aggie who had tears in her eyes.

  Fifty-Two

  Aggie’s first night in the Mansions felt very strange. Dulcie came round and lent a hand and Babs too, once school was over. Gradually they got their things organized, the familiar crocks on the rickety shelves and on the table, the pots and pans and their bedding in the upstairs rooms, and even though it was drab and dirty, the place started to feel a little bit more like home.

  Some of the neighbours came to say hello, including the mother of the timid Peter. The woman, Mrs Peters, was very new to the area. She had a scarf tied tightly over her hair even in the evening and she was thin and shrieky. They were to hear a lot of her shrieking in future, mostly at Stan, the oldest boy. When she talked about Stan, she implied that John had better watch out. As she left, Aggie wrinkled her nose.

  Jen stared after the woman. ‘Hm – I’m not so sure about her,’ she said. ‘And anyhow –’ She deposited the wooden box which held their eating irons on the shelf with a clatter. ‘What the hell’s she playing at, calling her boy Peter when her surname’s Peters? Daft if you ask me – not that anyone did.’

  She sank down suddenly on to a chair. ‘Oh! How am I going to keep going all evening?’

  ‘I could do it instead,’ Aggie offered.

  Her mother smiled wearily. ‘I wish you could, bab. But I can’t send someone else along my first day, can I? If we can keep the dinners going from here as well . . . Maybe,’ she said, speaking really to herself, ‘we might just get by for now.’

  Aggie felt relief flow through her.

  They waited, that night, for her to come back from Price’s. Nanna, having had a rest, was there with them and her very presence made the place home. No one wanted to go up the strange stairs to bed, so they sat round and at half past nine they heard Jen’s footsteps along the yard.

  She came in looking tired but quite cheerful and accompanying her was the most delicious smell.

  ‘Chips!’ Silas cried, suddenly wide awake again. Aggie felt the saliva rush into her mouth.

  Jen brought the warm, newspaper-wrapped bundle to the table. ‘He slipped a bit of fish in an’ all,’ she said. ‘Such a nice man, that Mr Price. Come on, kids – tuck in.’

  ‘You’re to have the fish,’ her mother instructed. ‘You need to keep your strength up.’

  The smell of hot potatoes and vinegar was spreading round the room.

  ‘No, there’s enough for all of us,’ Jen said. ‘Tell you what – I’ll have this end. Mom, you take some. And kids – you all have a bit each.’

  They gathered close round the table, relishing the chips. Aggie noticed that John tore a piece off the fish to eat, then had second thoughts.

  ‘Here, Mom – you’re to have mine,’ he said gruffly. ‘You need it more.’

  ‘Good lad,’ Nanna said.

  ‘Oh, John!’ Aggie could hear the emotion in Mom’s voice. Mom could see John was determined so she took it graciously. ‘Ta, love. When these two arrive,’ she stroked her stomach, ‘we’ll tell ’em they owe you!’

  Mr Price had been generous with the chips and Aggie enjoyed the blissful feeling of swallowing the hot tasty potatoes. Though the place was strange, the creaks and other noises different from the house they were used to, they slept all the better for having nice, full, warm stomachs.

  From Aggie’s point of view life went back almost to normal. They were still all grieving for their father, but Aggie and the others had to go to school and for the moment Nanna was at home to help with the dinners and Mom working every hour she could at the fried fish shop. The children were all trying to bring in any money they could manage still and John found some work after school in a little toy works the other side of the Strat
ford Road and was very proud of his few shillings he brought in every week.

  There was more earning for Aggie as well. A few days after they had moved, as she walked back from school, pleased to see the old neighbours in Lilac Street, she found Mrs Southgate hovering near the entry into the Mansions.

  ‘Aggie!’ Rose Southgate called to her, her voice soft but urgent.

  She was dressed in a summer frock in a lovely soft green and her pale golden hair was caught prettily up at the back. But when she got closer, Aggie saw that the woman’s face was pinched with distress.

  ‘Please, Aggie,’ Mrs Southgate said, her voice only just steady. Aggie wondered with alarm if she was going to cry. ‘I really need you to run an errand for me . . . Look, come along to my house. I don’t want to talk about it in front of the whole street.’

  She led Aggie inside, where Lily came running to greet her.

  ‘Aggie!’ she cried and threw her arms round Aggie’s waist, which was cheering.

  Mrs Southgate put on a forced, cheerful tone. ‘I expect you’re hungry? How would you like a piece of bread and jam?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Aggie said instantly. Whatever else the woman wanted she wasn’t going to throw up the chance to be fed. But she did feel wary of her nowadays.

  ‘Come and sit down with Lily . . .’ She took them into the kitchen and the two little girls sat at the table where Aggie saw there was already a plate of bread and raspberry jam waiting. Mrs Southgate sat tapping her fingers on the table as the little girls ate. She seemed quite unable to sit still. As soon as Aggie showed signs of having had enough, she jumped up.

  ‘Now, Aggie dear – come into the front with me a minute, please.’

  Closing the door of the front parlour, she took a deep breath.

  ‘I need you to take another message to Mr King – to speak to him again. I need a reply straight away.’

  Aggie frowned. ‘Why don’t you just go and see him?’

  Rose Southgate forced a smile. ‘Well, I have been rather busy, you see, and Mr King is at the works all day or out with customers. I can’t keep going to and fro all that way with Lily . . . Anyway, the thing is, I’d like you to go now, as fast as you can and wait for Mr King, all right?’

  Aggie nodded.

  ‘And Aggie – this is our secret. No one else is to know. There’s a shilling in it for you.’

  Before Aggie could say anything she moved closer, bending down as if someone was eavesdropping on them. She smelled faintly of flowers.

  ‘You must see him, d’you understand? Don’t let his landlady put you off. Tell her it’s an emergency – a family matter. When you do see Mr King, you must tell him you’ve something from me, Mrs Southgate.’ She spoke very deliberately. ‘You tell him Mrs Southgate is unable to come herself, but that she urgently needs to meet him. Say to him . . .’ She looked away, desperately, over Aggie’s head for a moment. ‘Say –’ Her eyes drifted down again. ‘Oh, dear . . .’ She crumpled for a moment. ‘This is so very difficult. His being blind makes everything so . . . Look, ask him where he can meet me, will you? Just anywhere, but get an answer, Aggie, for God’s sake. Now do go, please, dear, at once.’

  ‘I’ve got to run a message for Mrs Southgate,’ Aggie announced at home.

  ‘Oh, have you now,’ Jen said. ‘And what’s that exactly, then?’

  Trying to dodge the question, Aggie added, ‘She’s giving me a shilling for it.’

  ‘A shilling!’ Jen shot her mother a significant look. ‘Must be mighty urgent. Who to?’

  Aggie squirmed. ‘She said I wasn’t to say.’

  ‘Would it be anything to do with piano tuning?’ Nanny Adams asked.

  ‘No – not really,’ Aggie said truthfully. She wasn’t sure about the way Mom and Nanna kept looking at each other.

  ‘Well, you’d better get on with it,’ Jen dismissed her, muttering, ‘A shilling – must have money to burn.’ She didn’t ask Aggie to take May with her. One of the new developments about moving was that May was thick as thieves with another little girl in the yard and Aggie didn’t have her trailing after her every moment of the day.

  Fortified by the bread and jam Aggie set off again. As she went back along Lilac Street and was just turning the corner into Turner Street, she almost collided slap bang into Mrs Taylor.

  ‘Watch where you’re going!’ the woman exclaimed. As usual she was proceeding along with a bag on each arm like a ship in full sail and beside her was Dolly, who scowled at Aggie.

  ‘Sorry,’ Aggie said, running on and wandering why Dolly Taylor was always so snappy with everyone. Or at least she thought it was Dolly. But afterwards, she realized she seemed to have a mole on her cheek. Had it been Rachel? She was confused.

  She was just rehearsing to herself what she had to say to Mr King when she almost ran into someone else. The someone didn’t let her go, but grabbed hold of her shoulder. Aggie gasped and looked up to see a crone of a woman with a matted mop of yellowish grey hair and lips parted to show a few peg-like teeth.

  ‘Who’s that?’ the woman demanded. ‘D’you know who that is?’ She nodded vigorously along the street. Phyllis Taylor was just disappearing round the corner.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Aggie asked.

  ‘That woman – one with the girl with ’er. You spoke to ’er. D’you know ’er?’

  ‘A bit. She lives down the road.’ Aggie tried to pull away but the woman dug her fingers in.

  ‘You can go once you tell me what ’er name is. Is it Hetty summat?’

  ‘No!’ Aggie said. ‘That’s Mrs Taylor.’

  The woman relaxed her hold, sinking back in a satisfied way. ‘Taylor. First name?’

  Aggie’s mind went blank. She was always called Mrs Taylor but she was sure the name wasn’t Hetty.

  ‘Got a ’usband, ’as ’er?’

  ‘N-no. I think he passed away.’

  At last the woman released her. ‘And she lives just along there, you say? I’m an old pal of ’ers, see.’

  Aggie nodded doubtfully. Anyone who looked less as if they could be a friend of Mrs Taylor’s she found hard to imagine.

  ‘Number?’

  But Aggie was backing away. ‘I dunno . . .’ She ran off down the street, rubbing her shoulder. She’d had enough of adults being funny with her already that day and felt she had said too much already.

  The landlady in Oldfield Road peered over her spectacles disapprovingly at Aggie. Aggie looked down at the woman’s well-polished brogues.

  ‘Mr King is not home yet,’ she said, eyeing Aggie’s stained dress. The brown shoes Mrs Southgate gave her were now very worn and down at heel. ‘And I really can’t think what he’d want with you if he was.’

  ‘All right, ta then,’ Aggie said, backing away. She’d just have to wait.

  She guessed that Mr King would be coming from the piano works, so she walked along in that direction. She wished for a moment that she could go into some of the gardens that she knew were behind the houses. It was such a hot, sleepy sort of afternoon. She imagined how it would be to go and lie down in the grass under an apple tree. Out here there was no green and though the sun was sinking down now, it was still oppressively warm.

  Waiting on the corner, she picked at little growths of moss from between the sooty bricks and wondered if Mrs Southgate was in love with Mr King. How could that be though, since she was married to Mr Southgate? Mom and Nanna had been making comments about it but Aggie wasn’t fully sure if that was really what they meant. And why did it always involve tuning the piano?

  She became aware of a light tapping along the street and turned to see Mr King, feeling his way along with his stick. Aggie began to move slowly towards him. It seemed unfair, as she crept along, that she could see him when he could not see her. His black jacket was unbuttoned, as was the top of his shirt, and he was not wearing a tie.

  Suddenly he was very close.

  ‘Mr King?’

  ‘Yes?’ He spoke amiably. ‘Who’s that?’
/>
  ‘It’s Aggie again. Mrs Southgate sent me with another message.’

  His face tensed, an odd expression passing over it for a second.

  ‘I see.’ He swallowed. ‘Well, Aggie, as you’ve come all this way again, you’d better deliver your message.’

  Aggie did as she was bidden. Mr King listened carefully. Just for a moment he lowered his head as if to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Tell Mrs Southgate that I shall call at her house on Sunday afternoon. About three. If that’s not convenient . . . Well, if it’s not then perhaps she’ll send you back to tell me.’

  ‘Sunday, at three,’ Aggie murmured.

  ‘That’s it, exactly.’

  When Aggie gave Rose Southgate the message, it was like watching the sun come up, the joy that spread over her face. And Aggie came away with a shilling, gripped tightly in her palm.

  Fifty-Three

  ‘So come on, out with it – what the hell d’you think you’re playing at?’

  Phyllis had barely got the door shut before she launched into Dolly, letting out the fury that she had been containing all the way home. She dumped her bags down on the table and glared at her youngest daughter, looking fit to explode.

  ‘Nothing, Mom!’ Dolly protested. ‘It weren’t me. I was just walking along minding my own business and he came up and—’

  ‘And you let him sweet-talk you until you’re prancing about with that grinning ’apeth like any other moll on the monkey-run!’

  Phyllis had happened to be on the Stratford Road, picking up a few bits of shopping, and lo and behold, who should appear but Dolly and likely lad, arm in arm.

  ‘It was nothing,’ Dolly said mutinously. ‘Just a bit of fun. I was only on my way home and he came up and started asking me my name and that, and we was—’

  ‘Were,’ Phyllis said. ‘There’s no need to talk common as well as acting it.’

  ‘Were,’ Dolly rolled her eyes. ‘We were just canting, that’s all. Why shouldn’t I? There’s no harm! You just want me locked up here, day in, day out. I feel like the Prisoner of Zenda!’