by Joan Jonker
She set the rocking chair in motion and let her mind go back to last night’s party. Pretty soon a smile was lighting up her face. It was some party all right, a real knees-up. She never thought the day would come when she’d see toffs like Mr John and Mr Charles kicking their legs in the air while dancing to Knees Up Mother Brown. It did her heart good to see Mr John enjoying himself like that – he’d probably never had so much fun since he was a kid playing footie in the street. And he had the Perkins family to thank for his happiness; he was a different man since they came into his life.
The rocking stopped and Aggie leaned forward to talk once again to the flames. ‘Ay, what about that Sarah Jane! God, she was a right caution, she was! There was me, tryin’ to be on me best behaviour an’ she was swearing her head off like a ruddy trooper! Anyone would have thought she was in the snug at her local pub! She had them all in stitches, even the toffs. Mind you, a “bleedin’” here and there never did no one no harm.’
Aggie turned to look at the Westminster chiming clock standing on a white lace runner on the sideboard. Blimey, it was only half-nine. She couldn’t sit talking to herself all day, even though she had to admit to enjoying a good conversation with herself because that way she never lost an argument. She could go and see Ada and Fanny – that would pass a few hours away – but they’d be up to their necks in polishing and scrubbing after last night. They’d washed all the dishes and tidied around before she left, but the floors and carpets were in one hell of a state.
Suddenly Aggie sat bolt upright. ‘I’ll go and see Sarah Jane! She said she sets up about this time, with the help of Mary, so I can give her a hand.’ She was delighted at the prospect of seeing the old lady again. ‘We can have a laugh, and that beats stayin’ on me lonesome all bleedin’ day.’
Five minutes later, Aggie was walking down the street, a smile on her face and joy in her heart. It wasn’t far to walk and when she got to Bold Street the going would be easy because it was all downhill.
At the sight of her, Sarah Jane’s face creased into a toothless smile. ‘Well, girl, I never expected to see you here! I thought yer’d still be in bed sleepin’ off yer hangover.’
‘I don’t get a hangover after six bottles of stout.’ Aggie skirted the buckets and stood beside the stool. She saw Irish Mary waving to her and returned the greeting before bending to whisper in the old lady’s ear. ‘After seven perhaps, but not six.’
‘Ay, I’ve got a customer.’ Sarah Jane pointed impatiently. ‘Go and sell her a bunch of flowers.’
For a second, Aggie’s mouth gaped. Then she realised that the old lady was in earnest. ‘What? I can’t do that. I’ve never sold a bleedin’ thing in me life!’
‘Well, there’s a first time for everything, girl, so now’s yer chance. Flog her a bunch of flowers an’ I’ll mug yer to a bottle of stout.’
Filled with apprehension, Aggie approached the woman who was looking at the tulips. ‘Nice those, aren’t they?’ she said, wondering how she’d let herself be talked into this. ‘I like the yellow ones meself, they’d brighten yer room up a treat.’ She turned to ask, ‘How much are the tulips, Sarah Jane?’
‘Tuppence a bunch – an’ cheap at half the price.’
With the two coins in her hand, a song in her heart and a smile on her face, Aggie swayed back to the old lady. ‘Well, then, how about that!’
Mary came up behind Aggie, laughing. ‘She’s got you at it, has she? Honest, she could charm the birds off a tree, and that’s the truth of it. She says she’s never been to Ireland, but if she hasn’t kissed the blarney stone, sure it’s me hat I’ll be eating.’
Sarah Jane tugged on Aggie’s coat. ‘Ay, yer’ve got a customer, don’t let her get away. She’s looking at the daffodils, and if yer can’t persuade her that they’ll brighten her room up a treat, it’s surprised I’ll be.’
Shaking her head in disbelief, Aggie approached the potential customer. ‘Can’t beat daffodils this time of the year, can yer? We haven’t got any sunshine, but with them on yer sideboard yer’ll think the sun’s crackin’ the flags outside.’
This time Aggie did a little jig before passing the coins over. ‘I never thought I had it in me!’
‘Yer a born saleswoman, Aggie,’ said crafty Sarah Jane. ‘The minute I clapped eyes on yer, I said to meself, “that one would make a marvellous saleswoman”.’
‘Go on, pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’ Aggie laughed down into the wrinkled face. ‘Which pub do yer drink in, so I’ll know where to go to collect the bottle of stout yer owe me?’
‘The Crown.’
‘Go ’way! I don’t live far from there! Will yer be there tonight?’
‘Tonight, tomorrow night, and every other night if I can get someone to help me sell me flowers.’ A sly look crossed Sarah Jane’s face. ‘It’s me legs yer see, girl, they’ve given up on me. It takes me five minutes to get off the stool an’ by that time the customer’s done a disappearing act.’
‘Ay, me heart bleeds for yer, yer poor old soul.’ Aggie wiped away an imaginary tear. ‘Yer can tell me all yer troubles tonight when yer buy me that bottle of stout.’
‘Ay, if yer want to work for me, girl, yer’ll have to learn to keep yer eye to business.’ Sarah Jane managed to keep her face straight but her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. ‘There’s a woman there waitin’ to be served. Buck yer ideas up, girl, or yer’ll be turnin’ me into a teetotal against me will.’
Aggie moved away, thinking how glad she was she’d thought of coming down here. It beat sitting on her own all day talking to two flaming walls. She called over her shoulder, ‘Does eight o’clock tonight suit yer?’
‘Down to the ground, girl, down to the ground. Oh, by the way, those pink carnations are threepence a bunch.’
Polly wasn’t looking at what she was doing and dipped her pen too far down in the bottle of Quink. She ended up with ink all over her fingers and a look of disgust on her face. Holding her fingers away from her dress, she went to Mr Westly’s desk. ‘Can I go an’ wash me hands, Mr Westly?’
There was a twinkle in the tutor’s eyes when he told her, ‘You can go, Polly, but you may not.’
Looking puzzled, Polly returned to her desk. What did he mean, ‘You can go, but you may not?’ Was he telling her she could, or could not go? She’d have to ask again; she couldn’t sit with inky fingers all afternoon. From her chair, she asked, ‘Mr Westly, did yer say I could go or not?’
Tom Westly grinned, Justin chuckled aloud, and even Rebecca laughed. Polly looked at each of them in turn, and although she laughed with them she didn’t know what she was laughing at. ‘I’m glad you three find it funny, but I’m sittin’ here with ink all over me. I only asked if I could go and wash me hands.’
‘Polly, you should know the difference now between can and may. Suppose you asked if you could stand on your head. Now it is possible for you to stand on your head, but I wouldn’t allow it.’
Polly was chuckling by now. ‘I can stand on me head, if yer must know, and I’ll stand on me head to wash me hands if that’s what yer want.’
Tom dropped his head and took a few seconds to quell his laughter. She really was a treasure, was Polly Perkins. ‘I think you would have great difficulty in washing your hands whilst standing on your head. But I only used that as an instance. There are many things we are capable of doing, but we are not always allowed to do them. Now does that make it any clearer?’
‘Well, it’s clearer than it would be if yer were telling me in French, Mr Westly, but if yer want the God’s honest truth, I still don’t know whether I can go and wash me hands or not.’
Hooting with laughter, Justin looked across at his sister. She was enjoying the exchange, and he had to admit there was a difference in her attitude to Polly. There had been no snide remarks and no sneers. He just hoped it wasn’t a flash in the pan and the improvement would continue.
‘Polly, if you ask if you may go and wash your hands, the answer wil
l be in the affirmative.’
Dropping her smile, Polly put on a refined accent. ‘Mr Westly, may I go and wash my hands?’
‘You may, Miss Perkins.’
‘Thank you, Mr Westly.’ As she was passing his desk, Polly leaned over and looked in his face. ‘I could have been there and back by now, Mr Westly, even if I had washed me hands standing on me head.’
Polly left a room ringing with laughter. And when Justin had controlled his mirth, he leaned sideways to say to his sister, ‘Do you now see what I mean, Rebecca? Polly doesn’t mind people laughing at her because she laughs at herself. That is her secret, it’s what draws people to her. I only hope some of her warmth and humour, and her capacity for giving, rubs off on me.’ He winked broadly. ‘If I get some, I’ll share it with you.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Fanny had come up for her cup of tea and was perched on one of the stools in the kitchen with her legs dangling a foot off the ground. ‘Is that tea nearly ready, missus? I’m parched!’
‘Hold yer horses, Fanny, yer’ve only just come up! I can’t make the flamin’ water boil any quicker. The trouble with you is everything has to be done on the double.’
Fanny grinned as she pushed her mobcap up out of her eyes. ‘Oh, now, girl, I don’t like everythin’ done on the double, not when I’m enjoying meself. Mind you, it’s so long since I was pleasured in that way I’ve forgotten what it felt like.’
Just then the kettle started to whistle and as Ada picked it up to pour the boiling water into the teapot, she tutted, ‘I don’t know how yer can say yer’ve forgotten, when it comes into yer conversation at least once every day.’
‘Ah, ray, that’s stretching it a bit, isn’t it? I don’t harp on it, I only mention it in passing. If I didn’t I’d forget I ever had it, let alone what it felt like. And yer wouldn’t want me to go to me grave not remembering the only act I ever got a thrill out of, would yer? It was the only thing my feller was ever any good at.’
Ada handed her a cup. ‘D’yer think yer can stop talking long enough to drink that? Yer were moaning a few minutes ago about being parched but a dry throat doesn’t stop yer gabbing, does it?’
‘The only chance I get for a natter is when I come up here for me cuppa.’ Fanny sipped gingerly on the piping hot tea before holding the cup out to Ada. ‘Put a drop more milk in, girl, cool it down a bit.’ She eyed her friend thoughtfully. ‘You look a bit down in the dumps, girl. Is anythin’ the matter?’
‘I always feel low after I’ve been in to see Tommy. I’m really worried about him – there’s been no improvement at all. And when I ask the Sister, all I get is “there’s no change”.’
‘Yer’ll go in one day and there’ll be good news for yer, take my word for it, girl.’ Fanny finished her tea, slipped from the stool and went to stand the dirty cup in the sink. ‘I’d better get on with me work or I’ll never finish in time.’
She had almost reached the door when Mr John came breezing in and her thin face lit up. ‘Looking all dandified again, Mr John!’
John fingered the red rose in his buttonhole. ‘Put there by Aggie’s fair hand. She’s in her element down there with Sarah Jane, they get on like a house on fire.’
‘Yer know they’re boozing buddies, don’t yer?’ The mobcap was pushed back again. It was far too big for her but she just couldn’t be bothered putting a tuck in it. ‘In the pub every night they are, drinkin’ their bottles of stout and talkin’ about old times.’
John nodded and smiled. ‘It’s given Aggie a new lease of life. In her own words it’s better than sitting in her bleeding rocking chair just waiting to die. She said when the good Lord decides to take her, He can get on the twenty-six tram and pick her up from Bold Street.’
‘She’ll probably insist He takes Sarah Jane with her so she’ll have someone to talk to when she gets to heaven,’ Ada put in. ‘I’ve always said Aggie would argue with Our Lord.’
‘Heaven, did yer say, girl? Bein’ a bit optimistic, aren’t yer? If you heard how those two carry on at the pub, yer wouldn’t give much for their chances. Blimey, the things they come out with would make yer hair curl!’ Fanny’s high-pitched laugh rang out. ‘If she ever does get to heaven, the Angel Gabriel better ’ave a few crates of stout in or there’ll be ructions.’ Her two palms pressed on her tummy she doubled up with laughter as her imagination ran riot. ‘I can just see Aggie sittin’ on a stool next to Sarah Jane, both with wings on their backs and playing harps.’ She had to take a few deep breaths before she could carry on. ‘I can hear Sarah Jane sayin’ to Aggie, “Sod this for a lark, girl. Let’s give ’em Down by the Old Bull and Bush”.’
John’s laughter was loud, but Ada covered her mouth to keep hers at bay. ‘Fanny Delaney, you’ll never get to heaven, you won’t.’
‘I know that, girl, so there’s no point in bein’ good, is there?’ With a wave of her hand Fanny left the room, and they could hear her tittering as she ran down the stairs.
Ada put the plug in the sink and turned the tap on. ‘I don’t know who’s the worst, Fanny, Aggie or Sarah Jane.’
‘Much of a muchness, I’d say.’ John came to stand beside her and rubbed a finger lightly down her cheek. ‘Are you all right, my love?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. You go and do what yer have to do and I’ll bring yer a drink through when I’ve washed these few dishes.’
John was standing in the window looking thoughtful when Ada carried his drink in. ‘Here, let me take that.’ He took the cup and saucer from her and set it on a small side table. ‘Don’t rush away, Ada, stay for a short while and talk to me.’
‘I’ve got a lot to do, John. I haven’t started the ironing yet.’
‘To hell with the ironing!’ He quickly covered the distance between them and grasped her two hands. ‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, my love, but I couldn’t help overhearing you tell Fanny you were worried about your husband.’
She tried to pull her hands free but John held on tight. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, John, I only get upset.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me this morning that you were worried? I would never have gone out and left you if I’d known.’
‘I can’t come moaning to you all the time, it wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Talking about your sick husband isn’t moaning, Ada. And I’m saddened that it was Fanny you confided in, and not me.’ He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. ‘You need to talk, my darling; don’t keep it bottled up inside of you. Sharing your fears will help ease your mind.’
Ada gave a deep sigh. ‘I was hoping that seeing Polly would give Tommy the will to fight what ails him, but it hasn’t. In fact, he appeared weaker than ever yesterday, and he showed no interest whatsoever in anything I had to say. He just seems to have given up on life.’ She dropped her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to cry, I can’t help it.’
‘Then cry, my darling.’ John pulled her into his arms and stroked the back of her head. ‘My shoulder is always here for you to cry on.’
Polly was in a dilemma. She’d promised Steve she’d be living back home by Easter, which was only two weeks away, and she hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage to tell the Denholmes she was leaving. I mean, after they’d bought her those lovely clothes for her birthday, how could she turn around and say she was leaving them? She couldn’t hurt them like that. They’d been so good to her, treated her more like one of the family than a servant. And she really was very fond of them, they were like a second family to her. Even Rebecca’s attitude had changed over the last few weeks, and although they weren’t bosom pals at least the other girl was more friendly.
Polly lifted her hands out of the soapy water and reached for the tea towel. It was her night off; Steve was coming to meet her straight from work and they were going for a walk. He was bound to ask if she’d told the Denholmes yet and she was dreading having to say she hadn’t. She’d tried over and over again to explain the situation to him, but no matter what she said h
e couldn’t understand why she liked living with posh people who spoke as though they had a plum in their mouths. He said he’d be happy when she was living next door again and they could see each other every night, and if she liked him as much as he liked her, then she wouldn’t let anything or anybody stand in her way. He even said her place was at home helping her mother, which made her feel more guilty.
‘If you want to get off, Polly,’ Mrs Nightingale’s voice broke into her thoughts, ‘yer can leave those dishes and Lucy will finish them off.’
‘No, I’m all right, but thanks all the same.’
‘I thought you were seeing yer boyfriend tonight?’ The cook pursed her lips. ‘You should be looking happy instead of having a face on yer like a wet week.’
‘I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ Polly lied. ‘It’ll go away when I get out in the fresh air.’
‘Then put that cloth down and get away early while yer’ve got the chance. Lucy won’t mind finishing them off – yer can do the same for her one night when she’s got a date.’
Polly made up her mind quickly. She needed to talk to someone – and who better than the mother who’d always been there when she needed her? Her mam would understand and tell her what she thought was the right thing to do so she wouldn’t upset or hurt anyone. ‘I think I’ll take yer advice, Mrs Nightingale. I’ll walk over to see me mam and be back by six o’clock to meet Steve.’
Standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, Polly ran a comb through her hair as she tried to analyse her feelings. The trouble was, she wanted to please everyone and that wasn’t possible. She didn’t want to hurt Steve because he was her boyfriend and she knew in her heart of hearts, young as she was, that he was the only boy for her. But she didn’t want to hurt anyone else, either, and she just wished Steve could understand that. Polly put the comb on the tallboy and slipped her arms into her coat. She’d wait and see what her mam said, that was the best thing.