Liverpool Miss

by Helen Forrester

  She had asked me a number of questions, but she had not asked me the most important one. Had I any experience of using a telephone?

  I had never spoken on a telephone, never even held a receiver in my hand. What it sounded like, how it worked, were both mysteries to me. The closest I had ever been to a phone was when I had occasionally stepped into a public phone box to press the ‘B’ button, to see if I could retrieve twopence forgotten by a caller who had failed to get his connection.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was nearly half past four when I hurried silently through the back door, slipping Cristina’s jacket off as I ran.

  The living-room door was slightly ajar, and I could hear the hurly-burly of the children at tea. Bless Fiona for making the tea!

  In the cellar’s cold blackness, smelling of coal and long departed cats, I carefully removed the borrowed dress, shoes and stockings, and pushed the latter back into the brown paper bag I had left down there. Naked, except for a torn pair of knickers, I ran up the stone steps and hung the precious dress and jacket on the inside of the cellar door. I hoped frantically that there was no coal dust on them.

  Standing on the top step I slipped on my hopelessly short gym slip and a grey cardigan long since abandoned by Mother. Back in the kitchen, I stuffed my tortured feet into battered gym shoes; and I was back in character.

  In the living room, Brian, Tony and Avril had left the table, and Brian was laying down the rules of a new game he had invented. The stairs would be a train, he would be the driver and the others the passengers. Without even looking at me, they ran into the hall, and I could hear them squabbling on the stairs about the details of the game and who would fall out first.

  Edward was chewing a crust at the table, and I ruffled his hair playfully as I walked round him and sat down at the table opposite Fiona and Alan.

  ‘How did you get on?’ asked Alan. He nodded his blond head towards Fiona, and added, ‘Fi told me.’

  I told them of my success and they were jubilant. In spite of the family row the previous night Alan said he thought Mother and Father would relent. ‘You’ve got to start some time,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s only fair.’

  It sounded as if he had given the matter some thought, and Fiona was equally enthusiastic, though it is doubtful if the poor, suppressed child ever really thought deeply about anything, other than what was happening to her at any given moment. Only when she unexpectedly burst into floods of tears did one know that deep inside the beautiful, doll-like creature was a human being who suffered dreadfully.

  I had a misbegotten hope that my parents would be too tired to wage another battle. It was my mistake; they were never too tired to fight each other or lash out at me.

  After they had eaten the scanty meal I had kept for them from the midday meal served to the children, and Mother was about to go upstairs to take off her work dress, I said in a carefully controlled voice that I would like to speak to them about Miss Ferguson’s offer of a job.

  They both looked at me with cold suspicion.

  When I told them about the interview, they were outraged. I was standing quite close to Father and he was so furious that he jumped up and struck me across the head. This stalled the hysterics I could feel rising inside me. They seemed more incensed about my disobedience than by the actual interview, and they took turns ranting about my general insubordination and lack of respect for their wishes.

  I was myself very fatigued and was therefore quieter than usual, so that, unfuelled, their fury began to trail off. Summoning up as much courage as I could muster, I announced that either I should be allowed to go to work or I would run away.

  ‘What nonsense!’ shouted Father. ‘The police would bring you back, my girl. You are not even fifteen yet.’

  I was frightened by his mention of the police, but I answered steadily, ‘Not if I went to Grandma. If she lets my cousin work, she would let me go, too.’

  Fortunately, they did not remember that I had no money for the ferry I would have to take to get to Grandma, and my threat sobered them.

  Father laughed, and then said in a sad, dead voice, ‘You would certainly not be welcome.’

  Mother said savagely, ‘The whole idea is absurd. You are needed at home.’ She began to move towards the hall. ‘Besides I could not possibly find the clothes for you. It’s hard enough to keep myself dressed suitably.’

  ‘I know, Mummy,’ I replied quietly. ‘And I’ve never ever asked you for clothes.’ Then I added eagerly, ‘But I have thought how I could get something to wear. If you would write to Mrs Fox, my friend Joan’s mother, I think she would send me some. Joan and I were always much the same size – and she has wardrobes full of clothes.’

  Mother tossed her head. ‘I seem to remember your meeting Mrs Fox and her precious daughter in the town some time back, and that you told me they cut you dead.’

  ‘They did, Mummy,’ I agreed miserably. ‘But when I thought about it some more, I think I understood how they felt. If they had stopped in Bold Street to speak to a ragamuffin like me, a crowd would have gathered. People would have thought I had stolen something off them or was begging.’ I gave a shivery sigh. ‘They did the right thing.’

  ‘Humph,’ said Mother, her hand on the knob of the hall door.

  ‘I don’t think you have ever written to Mrs Fox,’ I went on persuasively. ‘She’s really very kind and generous.’

  Father was looking me up and down, as if he had never seen my clothing before. He said suddenly, ‘Helen needs clothes very badly by the look of her. That gym slip is hardly decent. It doesn’t cover her properly.’ He turned to Mother. ‘Try to wheedle some clothes for her out of that Fox woman. She has more money than sense. It wouldn’t hurt her to help her daughter’s friend. I am sure Helen would feel much better if she had some decent garments.’

  Perhaps he thought that, placated by some new clothes, I would be more amenable to being the family drudge.

  ‘She might send some money, too,’ I suggested.

  Mother looked again at Father. He gave her the smallest affirmative nod.

  ‘Very well,’ said Mother coldly. ‘I will write. We both need clothes.’ Then in another burst of sudden anger, she turned to me. ‘This doesn’t mean that I have agreed to your going to work. I will not hear of it. You can’t be spared.’

  I ground my teeth, as I swallowed the angry retort I longed to make. Seething inwardly, I replied, ‘Yes, Mother.’

  The letter was written there and then, while Father watched; and the next few days were filled with anxiety. Creditors were visibly astonished when the front door was whipped open at their first knock, as I joyfully anticipated the coming of the postman. I listened sullenly to their upbraidings and then promised to tell Father all they threatened.

  On the fourth day, the postal van arrived with two very large parcels. They were addressed to me, not to Mother.

  I tore them open and went through the contents with wonderment. The dear woman had thought of everything; underwear, skirt, two blouses, shoes, gloves, overcoat, even a small, rather tired-looking handbag and a plain tam o’shanter for my head. There was a short letter wishing me well and mentioning that Joan was at a finishing school in Switzerland.

  For a few moments, I touched and fondled the garments as if they were specially beloved possessions. I tried on the crumpled coat, a blouse and the skirt. They fitted reasonably well, though they were a little loose. I took them off reluctantly and folded everything into a pile. All the garments were so clean and sweet smelling, a gift from a world of bathrooms with soap and hot water, efficient laundries, and houses kept sparkling clean by maids armed with the newly-fashionable vacuum cleaner, tins of polish and bottles of disinfectant and liquid soap. As I stroked the little fur collar on the coat, I felt an overwhelming sadness, the sadness of someone bereaved who has come to terms with that bereavement but still at times mourns the loss.

  I pulled myself together and picked up the string. Untangled, it would be str
ong enough to make a clothes-line across the kitchen on which to dry the children’s clothes on wet days.

  Gathering up the heap of clothes with the brown paper underneath them, I took them upstairs and laid them on Edward’s and my bed. I hoped that the cleanliness of the clothing would deter the bugs from crawling on to them. When, later on, the fire would be lit for the children’s homecoming I would heat our single flat iron and press the garments ready for Monday.

  I dreaded the fighting yet before me; and I knew, from experience, that unless I was particularly adamant the parcel’s contents would end up at the pawnbroker’s.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Edward and I went for our afternoon walk. It was raining slightly, so he rode in the Chariot and I put the ancient pram’s hood up to protect him from the wet. Though the frame protruded through the rents in the cover, it still sheltered him fairly well. The rain slowly soaked my cardigan. I was used to it and did not care.

  Our street was a straight line of terrace houses, once respectable working-class homes. Now the inhabitants were very mixed; and my father and a fireman who lived further down the street were the only two men in regular employment. Many of the homes had more than one family in them and were dirty and neglected. A few were very well kept; mended curtains arranged neatly on either side of the front window, with an aspidistra in a pottery bowl filling up the middle space, the window sill highly polished and the front step whitened.

  Our beige curtains, as yet unpaid for, looked tidy behind windowpanes which I had washed with hot water and newspaper pads. Our front step, however, was littered with dried orange peel and cigarette ends flung there by our next door neighbours, whose front door abutted ours. They also spat on our step, as they sat on their own doorstep and smoked and read comic books. We never spoke to the man and wife and toddler who lived there. They would stare at us when we passed them, as if we were beings from another planet, and I suspect that they made ribald jokes at our stuffiness.

  We walked the length of the long street, crossed Kingsley Road, which still had some shabby gentility about it, and continued on to Lodge Lane, where we spent a little while shop gazing, and I taught Edward the names of some of the household utensils exhibited in a chandlery shop.

  The April clouds rolled away and the sun came out to make the rain-washed streets glitter with sudden cleanliness. When we neared home again, Edward said he wanted to walk. The pavement was no longer very wet, so I set him down on it and he ran ahead of me. I had made him a pair of bootees out of an old felt hat. They were stitched with wool from an unravelled sweater, and between two felt soles I had put a double layer of cardboard. I hoped the damp would not penetrate to his tiny feet.

  Alice Davis was leaning against the doorjamb of her home as we came near, and she called to the small boy. He stopped and gave her one of his winning smiles. She stepped into the street and squatted down in front of him to talk baby talk to him. Then she ran back into the house and returned with a plain biscuit for him, which he snatched gladly out of her hand.

  Though Alice was only about twenty-five years old, her face was lined and her smile practically toothless. She wore her black hair screwed into an unbecoming bun at the back of her head. Her blue-grey eyes were merry as she gently teased Edward.

  I stopped to thank her for the biscuit and made Edward say, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘That’s nothing,’ she replied. Then she went on, ‘That Mrs Ferguson come to see me about Edward. I said I’d take him. Did you get the job?’ Her voice had the thick nasal accent of the born Liverpudlian.

  ‘Yes,’ I responded dully. ‘I’m supposed to start on Monday.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you?’ She looked me over disparagingly, and burst out, ‘You’re lucky, you are, to get a job.’

  I nodded agreement. ‘I know I am.’ Then I thought suddenly that there is nothing like a fait accompli, so I said boldly, ‘If you will look after Edward, I can start.’

  ‘Oh, aye. I said I would. He’s a little dear, he is.’

  ‘I could pay you the ten shillings every Saturday afternoon when I come home from work. I think I would be paid on Fridays, but I am not certain. So I’ll promise to bring it every Saturday.’

  ‘Isn’t that your Mam’s business?’

  I hesitated. I could not say that I doubted if Mother would pay regularly, so I said, ‘We’ll settle it between us. I’ll bring Edward down every morning before I go to work, and Fiona can collect him when she gets back from school.’

  Alice threw back her head and laughed. ‘First few days you could bring him. After that he’ll run up and down by himself, won’t you, luv?’ She bent down and chucked Edward under the chin. He swallowed the last of the biscuit and giggled and twisted away from her. ‘’Tis only a few doors away,’ she added.

  ‘If you think he’ll be all right,’ I said anxiously.

  ‘Sure, he will. I’ll see our door is open for him. And he can have a bit to eat with us at dinner time.’

  ‘Thank you, Alice. I’m very grateful to you. See you on Monday morning – about eight o’clock.’

  Alice bent down again and picked up Edward and nuzzled her face into his, laughing all the time. ‘Yes. We’ll have a proper nice time together.’

  And with great relief I felt that she was right.

  Clean out the grate, make the fire, lay clean newspaper on the table, cut the bread, make the tea, all with a stomach tight with apprehension. Would I ever know what it was like not to be frightened?

  It was worse than I had expected.

  Firstly, I had opened the parcel. Did I not realise that letters and parcels were opened by parents, regardless of how they were addressed? Furthermore, I had ironed the garments, thus accepting them without parental permission.

  I had no right to speak to Alice. I had no right to say that I would begin work on Monday. Parents decided such a thing and they had decided that I should stay at home. It seemed to me that I had no rights at all, only a formidable list of obligations.

  Cornered, terrified rats turn and attack. Some human beings, however, have less courage, and I was ready to give in, when help came suddenly from an unexpected quarter.

  Fiona said in a quivering voice, ‘I can make the tea and take care of Edward and Avril till you come home, Mummy. And I can help to put them to bed. I could even do the shopping if you gave me a list.’

  It must have cost her dearly to speak up on my behalf. It came as a surprise to me that she should love me enough to do so. I gave love but I did not expect anything in return. I had always protected her as much as I could from hunger and cold and jeering local boys and girls, helped her with her homework because she had great difficulty in learning, and frankly admired her because she had such a sweet temperament. And now, on my behalf, the gentle creature was laying herself open to our parents’ bitter censure. I was moved beyond words and was still gaping at her, when Alan put down his toast and said, ‘I don’t mind giving a hand as well.’

  Alan and I had always got along very well, once I had recovered from the infant jealousy which his birth had engendered; and I was grateful for his intercession. Mother loved her sons and would listen to him.

  Alan was saying stoutly that all girls went to work now. A lady from the employment exchange had come to the school to counsel them about work, and she had interviewed the girls as well as the boys. So it must be so.

  Though Father was still trembling with rage, I could see he was listening to Alan’s remarks. Mother started to cry and say that she could not manage, and I felt dreadful, because the ultimate responsibility for all of us rested on her shoulders. She was not idle after returning from work; she would rest for a little while and then spend some time with Edward and Avril. While I was at night school, she would check the children’s clothes after they had gone to bed and sometimes did part of the washing and ironing. She was not in the best of health, and her tears racked me.

  Fiona and Alan were, however, arguing in a soothing way that the family was big enou
gh and each of them old enough to make it possible for me to be spared.

  Father got up suddenly and swung out of the room. I saw him take his trilby hat off the hall peg and clap it down on his head. Without a word, he lifted the latch of the front door and went out into the ill-lit street. I knew from experience that when he came back he would smell of beer and would be amiably jocular with all of us.

  As he went, Mother blew her nose quickly, and then shouted after him, ‘You can’t face anything, can you? Must you always waste money on drink?’

  He did not reply. Shell-shocked, war weary, he had been ill enough himself to draw a full army pension for several years after serving in Russia. Probably his nerves screamed for sedation, and his comfortless home and unruly family made the pain unbearable.

  Fiona got up and put her arms round Mother’s neck. ‘Don’t cry, Mummy. If Helen goes to work, she’s so clever she’ll soon earn lots and lots. And then you will be able to stay at home and not have to work any more.’

  Fiona’s and Alan’s advocacy gave me a little courage again. I was so terribly unhappy myself that I felt I could not go on as I had been doing; something had to give. Unlike Fiona, I was quite sure that the last thing Mother wanted was to be at home with her family all day; yet my needs deserved consideration, too.

  ‘Let us try, Mummy,’ I begged. ‘I should get more money after a little while and it would help.’

  But Mother was still flaming with wrath. She pushed Fiona away, bounced out of her chair and shook her finger at me. ‘You are talking rubbish. You are disobedient and ungrateful. You haven’t even matriculated. You are unskilled in anything.’

  I fired up immediately, ‘And whose fault is that?’

  Mother nearly choked. She slapped me across the face. ‘I never heard such impudence,’ she screamed.