EG02 - Man of the House

by Joan Jonker

  Man Of The House

  Joan Jonker

  Copyright © 1992 Joan Jonker

  The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN: 978 0 7553 9194 3

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Joan Jonker

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War when she met and fell in love with her husband, Tony. For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and it was during this time that she turned to writing fiction. Sadly, after a brave battle against illness, Joan died in February 2006. Her best-selling Liverpool sagas will continue to enthral readers throughout the world.

  Joan Jonker’s previous novels, several of which feature the unforgettable duo Molly and Nellie, have won millions of adoring fans:

  ‘Wonderful … the characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York

  ‘I enjoy your books for they bring back memories of my younger days’ Frances Hassett, Brixham, Devon

  ‘Thanks for all the good reads’ Phyllis Portock, Walsall

  ‘I love your books, Joan, they bring back such happy memories’ J. Mullett, Lancashire

  ‘I’m an ardent fan, Joan, an avid reader of your books. As an old Liverpudlian, I appreciate the humour. Thank you for so many happy hours’ Mrs L. Broomhead, Liverpool

  Also by Joan Jonker

  When One Door Closes

  Man Of The House

  Home Is Where The Heart Is

  The Pride Of Polly Perkins

  Sadie Was A Lady

  Walking My Baby Back Home

  Try A Little Tenderness

  Stay As Sweet As You Are

  Dream A Little Dream

  Many A Tear Has To Fall

  Taking A Chance On Love

  Strolling With The One I Love

  When Wishes Come True

  The Girl From Number 22

  One Rainy Day

  Featuring Molly Bennett and Nellie McDonough

  Stay In Your Own Back Yard

  Last Tram To Lime Street

  Sweet Rosie O’Grady

  Down Our Street

  After The Dance Is Over

  The Sunshine Of Your Smile

  Three Little Words

  I’ll Be Your Sweetheart

  Non-fiction

  Victims Of Violence

  To my family and many friends

  for their encouragement,

  and a special thanks to Mary Johnson

  for her help and patience with my erratic apostrophes.

  Chapter One

  ‘Sod it! I’m sweatin’ cobs an’ gettin’ nowhere!’ Eileen muttered under her breath. She glared first at the donkey stone in her hand, then at the offending front door step that had resisted all her attempts to come up white. ‘Waste of time, anyway! When the kids come chargin’ in it’ll be as black as the hobs of hell again!’

  With a look of disgust on her face, Eileen threw the donkey stone into the hall before leaning against the wall. Rivulets of sweat were running down her face and she wiped them away with the corner of her pinny before folding her arms across her waist, where they disappeared from view beneath the mountainous bosom. Her attention was drawn to the house opposite and the man perched precariously on top of a rickety ladder nailing coloured bunting to the frame of the bedroom window.

  ‘I ’ope that ladder’s safe, Tommy!’ Eileen bawled. ‘I’d hate yer to fall an’ break yer fishin’ tackle!’

  Hanging on to the window sill like grim death, Tommy Wilson peered over his shoulder. ‘Missus wouldn’t worry,’ he grinned, ‘save her having one of her headaches every night.’

  ‘Yer don’t mean to tell me she gets away with that old trick?’ A laugh rumbled in Eileen’s tummy, and when it erupted every ounce of her eighteen-stone body shook. ‘Tell ’er the bloody war’s over now, and that includes skirmishes in the bedroom.’

  Tommy lifted his hand to deliver one more blow with the hammer before answering. ‘I’ll tell her you said that, but I’ll make sure I’m out of arms reach when I do! She packs a powerful punch does my Missus!’

  ‘Yer’ll ’ave to learn to put yer foot down then, won’t yer!’ Eileen watched as Tommy came down the ladder, testing each rung first before lowering his weight on to it. ‘Either that, or learn to duck!’

  Tommy chuckled, wondering if his wife had heard the exchange between him and their neighbour opposite. There’d be hell to pay if she had. Ada didn’t always appreciate Eileen Gillmoss’s jokes. But Tommy liked the big woman. At least she knew how to smile. Not like some he could mention who looked as though a smile would crack their faces.

  Eileen waved back as Tommy moved indoors, then gazed up and down the street where people were rushing to finish the decorations in time for the street party due to start at four o’clock. She’d heard all the streets in the neighbourhood were being decorated, as people prepared to celebrate the end of the war in Europe.

  The end of the war! Eileen screwed her eyes up tight. Even though she’d heard Winston Churchill on the wireless saying that Germany and Italy had surrendered, and hostilities in Europe had ceased, she couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Goin’ asleep on yer feet, are yer?’

  Eileen opened her eyes to see Cissie Maddox standing in front of her. She grinned sheepishly. ‘I couldn’t sleep if I tried, Cissie! I’m shakin’ like a leaf with excitement.’ She swept her arm wide to take in the coloured bunting stretching across the street from house to house, the Union Jacks of every size and shape swaying in the slight breeze, and pictures of the King and Queen, with the two Princesses, adorning the windows of nearly
every house. ‘Looks great, doesn’t it? Makes yer feel real proud.’

  ‘Everyone’s done a good job,’ Cissie admitted. She lived two doors down from Eileen, and they’d been neighbours for years. They’d had their differences over those years, mostly about the kids fighting, but all that was forgotten now. She was the same age as Eileen and matched her in size ounce for ounce. But Cissie took more care of her appearance, with hair neatly permed, a face that was seldom seen without make-up, and clothes that didn’t look as though they’d come off a rag and bone cart.

  ‘Have yer made the cakes and jellies?’ Cissie’s face was serious. ‘We’ll have to start bringin’ the tables out soon.’

  ‘Keep yer hair on, Cissie! Everything’s under control,’ Eileen’s chubby cheeks moved upwards to cover her eyes as she grinned. ‘No, I’m not goin’ to tell lies today, I might put the mockers on meself! I haven’t done nowt, Cissie! Me mam’s made the cakes, jellies and blancmange. All I did was boil the water.’

  ‘Thank God for that!’ Cissie rolled her eyes expressively. ‘At least we’ll be able to eat the cakes.’

  ‘Watch it now, Cissie! We’ve just got one war over, don’t you an’ me start another one!’

  ‘Okay, we’ll call a truce till tomorrow.’ Cissie was silent for a moment, then sighed softly. ‘We’ll ’ave our fellers home soon.’

  ‘Oooh, don’t mention it, Cissie!’ Eileen looked up to the skies. Her Bill had been a prisoner of war since 1940, and the only contact she’d had with him in all that time had been through heavily censored letters. ‘Every time I think about it, I get that excited I ’ave to run to the lavvy! I’m not kiddin’, I’ve been to the lavvy that many times today I’ve worn a groove in our back yard.’

  Cissie touched Eileen’s arm in a rare gesture of sympathy. Her husband was in the army too, but, thank God, he’d never been further than the Isle of Man. ‘It’s been a long time, and you’ve had a lot to put up with.’

  ‘It was a case of ’aving to put up with it!’ Tears were threatening and Eileen had no intention of making a fool of herself in front of Cissie Maddox. ‘I’d better get in an’ give me mam a hand.’

  Seeing the signs, Cissie moved away. ‘I’ll give yer a knock when it’s time to bring the table out. And don’t you go luggin’ that big table out on yer own, d’yer hear? Get one of the men to give yer a hand.’

  Eileen had her foot on the front step. ‘Our Billy should be ’ome in time to help. I’ve sent him up to the Sedgemoors to ask if Mary wants to bring the kids to the party.’ She gave a deep chuckle. ‘Can’t see them havin’ a street party round by them … they’re too posh for anythin’ so common.’

  Eileen walked through to the kitchen where her mother, Maggie, was just taking a tray of fairy cakes out of the oven. ‘Mmmm! They smell good, Mam!’

  ‘That’s the lot, thank God!’ Maggie slipped the hot tray on to the wooden draining board. ‘They should smell good, too! All our sugar and margarine ration has gone into them. And I’m warning you, if you don’t keep the kids out of here there’ll be none left for the party.’

  ‘I wonder where the kids ’ave got to?’ Eileen frowned. ‘I haven’t seen them for ages.’

  ‘Probably wandering round, looking at the decorations.’ Maggie was edging a knife expertly round the cakes to dislodge them from the tray before sliding them on to a plate. ‘They’ve never seen anything like it before.’

  ‘Aye, poor little buggers.’ When Eileen nodded her layer of chins wobbled. ‘They’re too young to remember the street parties we used to have for Empire Day.’

  Maggie ran her flour-caked hands down the front of her pinny. ‘I’ll have to sit down for half an hour before I get washed and changed, me feet are killing me. And a cup of tea would go down a treat.’

  ‘Go an’ sit down then, an’ I’ll make us a cuppa.’ Eileen pushed her mother into the living room. ‘Go on, do as yer told, unless yer want a fourpenny one.’

  Mother and daughter sat in companionable silence facing each other across the table. The front door had been left open and a medley of sounds drifted in from the street, but both were lost in thought and oblivious to the racket outside. Eileen was studying her mother through lowered lids as she sipped on the piping hot tea. People said she took after her mother in looks, but, as Eileen mused now, her mother was only half her size. They might have looked alike years ago, but that was before Eileen started piling the weight on.

  Eileen let out a soft sigh. The war years had certainly taken their toll on her mother. Her hair was now snowy white, and deep worry lines were etched on her forehead and under her eyes. She looked worn out, and Eileen blamed herself for it. When her dad had died fifteen years ago, it was she who persuaded her mother to come and live with her and Bill. Said it would be better than living in that big old house on her own. And the arrangement had worked fine until the war started and Bill had been called up. Eileen remembered how she’d jumped at the chance to work in the munitions factory when her mother had offered to mind the three children for her. Mainly it was because she wanted to do her bit for the war effort, but the money had certainly come in useful. They’d have been in queer street if they’d had to manage on Bill’s army pay and the few bob her mother got in widow’s pension. But no one had expected the war to last five years. So, in her sixties, when she should have been sitting back taking life easy, her mother had been saddled with three children to look after. Not that she’d ever complained. And when Eileen had offered to pack in work and look after her family, her mother wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘I wonder how long it’ll be before Bill gets home?’ Maggie broke the silence. ‘It could be only a matter of weeks.’

  Eileen ran a finger round the rim of her cup. ‘It’s like a dream to me, Mam! To tell the God’s honest truth, I’d got to the state where I thought I’d never see ’im again.’

  ‘You’d better get used to the idea quick, my girl, and get yourself moving!’ Maggie shook her head in despair as she eyed her daughter’s limp, straggly, mousey-coloured hair, the smudges of dust streaked across the chubby face, and the washed-out dress under the washed-out pinny. The seams of the dress were all burst open, and Maggie would lay bets that there’d be a couple of pins holding the hem up. ‘If Bill walked in now and saw you looking such a mess, he’d have a fit! And as for this … well! I just give up!’ Maggie snorted in disgust at the chaotic state of the room. Clothes had been flung over the backs of chairs, and those that had missed their target were left to lie on the floor with the cast-off shoes, toys and newspapers. ‘If I said this place looked like a pig sty, I’d be insulting the pigs!’

  A lazy smile spread across Eileen’s face. ‘Don’t be gettin’ yer knickers in a twist, missus! I’ve got two days off work to celebrate the end of the war, an’ I’m gonna do just that! I’m gonna celebrate like I’ve never bloody celebrated before.’

  Maggie tutted. ‘What have I told you about swearing? If Bill hears you, you won’t half get it in the neck, I’m warning you!’

  Despite her words, Maggie was having trouble keeping her face straight. She could never hold out long against her daughter’s infectious humour. ‘You know, I must have a screw loose, putting up with you all these years!’ Maggie scraped her chair back. ‘Come on, let’s get ourselves tidied up.’

  Eileen stretched across the table and clasped her mother’s arm. ‘Sit down a minute, Mam, I’ve got something to tell yer.’

  Maggie was so used to having her leg pulled, she hesitated. But there was something about the set of Eileen’s face that made her curious, so she sat down. ‘Make it snappy, or we’ll never be ready in time.’

  ‘I was goin’ to tell yer tonight, when we had more time. But I’ll tell yer now, save yer walkin’ round like a wet week.’ Eileen licked her finger and rubbed it over a tea stain on the oilcloth covering the table. ‘Remember when Mary and Harry got married and went to live in Orrell Park?’ She looked up to see her mother’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Just be patien
t, Mam! All will be revealed as I go along, but I’ve got to start at the beginning. I know I skitted Mary about goin’ to live in a posh house, an’ everythin’, but deep down I was a bit jealous. Every time I went up there and saw how nice she kept the house, and then came back to this dump, it was like a slap in the gob.’

  ‘You can’t compare yourself with Mary!’ Maggie said heatedly, quick to defend the daughter she’d watched struggle for the last five years. ‘Mary didn’t have three kids to look after, and go out and earn a living! She had a husband bringing in a good wage every week!’

  ‘I know that, Mam! And I don’t begrudge Mary a thing, honest I don’t, ’cos she’s me best mate! And it wasn’t Harry’s fault that the Forces wouldn’t have him! But seein’ their house, an’ our Rene’s posh house at the Old Roan, well it started me thinkin’,’ Eileen grinned into her mother’s flushed face. ‘D’yer know Cookson’s shop in Walton Vale? Well, for the last three and a half years I’ve been puttin’ five bob a week away in a club there. And yer know what, Mam? I’ve got me club card upstairs with forty pound ten shillings on it.’

  ‘Go way!’ Maggie gasped. ‘Fancy you not letting on all this time.’

  ‘I didn’t tell yer at first ’cos I didn’t think I could keep it up! Yer know what I’m like with money, it goes through me hands like water. And I didn’t half miss that five bob every week in the beginning, I can tell yer! Many’s the time I was tempted to use it, like when our Billy wanted new kecks and was walking round nearly bare arsed, or when the sole came off our Joan’s shoes. Then I’d think of Mary’s house, an’ our Rene’s, and I held out. Then after a while, when I could see the money mounting up, I was determined to carry on, no matter what.’ Eileen looked directly into her mother’s eyes. ‘Isn’t that a nice surprise, Mam?’

  ‘You can say that again!’ Maggie was flabbergasted. ‘What are you going to do with all that money?’

  ‘Mr Cookson said he’ll get me a dining room suite for here, an’ something for the bedroom. It’ll only be that Utility stuff they’re makin’ now, but Mr Cookson said it’s very good.’