by June Francis
‘That’s an outfit the Queen Mother would wear,’ said a voice behind her.
Irene whirled round to find herself staring at Marty. ‘I wasn’t intending to buy it,’ she said, collecting herself.
‘I thought you might have been fancying a new outfit for the party you mentioned on the train.’
‘No, but there’s no harm in looking.’
She carried on walking and he fell into step beside her. ‘D’you work in town?’ he asked.
‘If you were listening to what I said to your sister earlier, you’ll have heard me say I work in the opposite direction. I’ve only come in to get tickets for the Empire. I thought of taking my mam for her birthday.’
He smiled. ‘It’s “Babes in the Wood” with Jimmy Jewel and Ben Warriss. They make me laugh but I doubt they’ll be as good as last year’s star of the show.’
She nodded. ‘I remember how funny Ken Dodd was – and the Beverley Sisters were good as well. Mam had seen him in a show in Blackpool the other year and she really liked him.’
‘Apparently he started performing when he was just a kid, gave shows in his backyard,’ said Marty.
‘Dorothy Wilson, the Liverpool actress, used to do the same,’ said Irene. ‘It must make a difference starting so early to become a big star.’
He nodded and changed the subject. ‘The bloke with the limp …’
She stiffened. ‘What about him?’
‘He knows our Peg, doesn’t he?’
‘Why ask me?’ she said bluntly. ‘You’re her brother! Ask her!’
‘Yeah, and that’s why it’d be a waste of time me asking her,’ he said grimly. ‘Is he a Proddy?’
She stopped and stared at him. ‘I’ve just realized, you’re the brother that Jeanette went to the wrestling with when she was attacked outside the Stadium a few years back.’
‘It was a terrible thing to happen.’ Marty’s expression was unhappy. ‘She was lucky to get away without being injured. If she’d been prepared to wait for me, I could have saved her from being frightened out of her wits. Anyway, they got the bloke and he was put away.’ He paused. ‘So, this bloke with the limp …?’
‘Why are you so interested in him?’ she burst out. ‘Anyway, if you wanted to know more about him, why didn’t you speak to him? Now, I’ve no more time to waste, so I’ll be saying tarrah!’ Irene crossed the road into Lime Street, thinking about what she had heard from Jeanette about Peggy’s brother having once beaten up a bloke for being too familiar with his sister. She certainly didn’t want Marty having a go at Pete Marshall who might have trouble defending himself.
Two
Irene let herself into the house and stood with her back to the front door, listening. She thought she could hear someone moaning but decided it must only be the wind. She hurried up the lobby, stuffing her woolly hat and gloves in the pockets of her coat before hanging it on a hook on the wall at the foot of the stairs. She could still hear the moaning and it seemed to be coming from the kitchen. She opened the door cautiously, only to freeze when she saw her mother, still wearing her hat and coat, huddled on the sofa which had been moved closer to the fire.
Irene’s heart began to thud and she hurried over to the sofa and knelt beside it. ‘Mam, what’s wrong?’ she asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Maisie lifted her head, holding a bloodstained handkerchief to her mouth. Irene gasped. ‘What have you done to your face? Did you walk into a lamp post?’
‘No, I’ve had me bloody teeth out,’ Maisie mumbled through the handkerchief.
‘You mean … all of them?’ cried Irene, flabbergasted.
Maisie nodded.
Irene sat back on her heels, scarcely able to believe that her mother had visited the dentist, never mind had the guts to have all her teeth taken out. ‘Why didn’t you say that you were going? I would have gone with you!’ Irene cried.
‘I didn’t want yer with me,’ Maisie mumbled, wincing as she dabbed at her swollen upper lip. ‘I asked Gertie Marshall instead because I had to have someone with me.’
‘You mean the twins’ mam?’
‘I didn’t know we knew any other Marshalls,’ said Maisie sarcastically, leaning her head back against the cushion.
‘Sorry, didn’t think,’ said Irene, glancing towards the closed door to the back kitchen. ‘Is she still here?’ she asked, dropping her voice.
‘No, she had to go. She’s looking after her granddaughter this afternoon. I wish yer’d stop asking me bloody questions,’ she added fretfully. ‘I’m suffering here.’
‘Sorry, Mam.’ Irene would have liked answers to several more questions but she made do with asking, ‘Would you like a cup of tea and for me to put more coal on the fire?’
‘That would be good of yer, girl.’ Maisie gazed at her daughter from beneath drooping eyelids. ‘I don’t want anything to eat yet but if yer could cook yours and our Jimmy’s tea this evening that would save me getting up from this sofa.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Anyway, they’re out now and soon I’ll have a mouthful of teeth just like a Maclean toothpaste advert.’
An image of a shark flashed into Irene’s mind but she kept quiet about it and went to put the kettle on. She could not help wondering why her mother had decided to have all her teeth out today of all days. It wasn’t as if she had been complaining of toothache recently, although she did have a mouthful of discoloured teeth due to her bad smoking habit. Suddenly it occurred to Irene that it might have had something to do with Maisie’s New Year’s resolution to make the best of herself. She would have been better giving up smoking.
While she was waiting for the kettle to boil she put plenty of milk in her mother’s cup as well as two sugars, and then she built up the fire.
‘How about filling me a hot water bottle, love?’ Maisie murmured from the sofa, without opening her eyes.
Irene returned to the back kitchen and, after making a pot of tea, put the kettle on once more and made herself a brawn butty, having dropped in at the cooked meat shop on Bridge Road on her way home. She gazed down at the red and navy tiles and then placed the two cups of tea and a plate with her sandwich on a tray, thinking that her mother’s suffering had driven all thought of the floor being scrubbed from her mind.
She helped Maisie to sit up against a couple of cushions and handed her a cup of tea. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be fit to go to the Gianellis’ New Year party tomorrow night?’ she said.
Maisie stared at her in disbelief. ‘Too bloody right, I won’t,’ she mumbled. ‘At least there’s a silver lining to every dark cloud.’ She took a cautious sip of tea. ‘I’m glad yer had the sense to think I wouldn’t be able to drink it hot,’ she added.
‘What d’you mean “dark cloud”, Mam? What have you got against Nellie Gianelli?’ Irene bit into her brawn butty.
‘Why should I have anything against her? It’s this rock’n’roll music I can’t stand but don’t yer go telling our Jimmy that.’
Irene did not quite believe her mother. ‘It wouldn’t be all rock’n’roll. There’s bound to be some waltzes and foxtrots and people doing the hokey-cokey and the Conga. But I can understand you not feeling up to going if you’re suffering.’
‘It’s not only that I’m suffering; it’s that I won’t be wanting to open me mouth when I haven’t a tooth in me head, yer dafty.’ Maisie eyed Irene’s half-eaten brawn butty in frustration. ‘I’m hungry.’
Irene almost offered the sandwich to her mother but thought better of it. ‘I’d make you one, Mam, but you’d have difficulty eating it.’
‘I suppose yer right.’ Maisie sipped her tea. ‘Good cup of tea this, and not too hot.’
‘Thanks.’ Praise was not often forthcoming from her mother so Irene was pleased to hear it. ‘Could you manage something to eat a bit later? I could do you some Heinz cream of chicken soup?’
Maisie nodded. ‘Thanks, love. I’ll see how I am in an hour.’ She drained the cup and placed it in its saucer and put both on the floor. Then she lea
ned back and closed her eyes. ‘And don’t be forgetting to scrub that kitchen floor,’ she muttered.
Irene went into the back kitchen. She opened a can and put the soup in a pan to heat up later. While she scrubbed the tiles on her hands and knees, her thoughts were of the party tomorrow evening. She came to the conclusion it would be selfish of her to leave her mother alone and in pain at home. Shame! She would have liked to see how Peggy and Pete were with each other away from the watchful eyes of her father and brother.
Her thoughts drifted to the conversation she’d had with Marty McGrath. She had remembered more of the story surrounding Jeanette’s evening out with him at the Stadium. Jeanette had only agreed to go in exchange for a favour he’d done for her. Marty had, apparently, fallen out with his girlfriend and decided to try and get her back by making her jealous. It was a few years ago now but as far as Irene knew the plan had worked.
But had he married the girlfriend?
Irene realized that she really would like to know. It should be easy to find out. She might not be going to the party but Jimmy would and he could ask Peggy.
‘You look like death warmed up, Mam,’ said Jimmy, after recovering from the initial shock of finding his mother lying on the sofa, hugging a hot water bottle.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, closing her eyes.
He hesitated and went out again, to return not long after with a bowl containing three hyacinths in bud. ‘By the time these flower, Mam, you’ll have your new teeth and be flashing dazzling smiles, just like a film star,’ he said.
Maisie’s expression was pleased. ‘You’re a good lad! Put them where I can see them. And Irene, could you get me two Aspro and another cup of tea? I could be a reasonably happy woman if you also reheated this hot water bottle and put it in my bed. I’ll go up early and read my Red Letter magazine there.’
Once Maisie had disappeared upstairs, Irene and Jimmy sat down to plates of home-made chips, fried egg and beans. Over the meal, she told him about her conversation with Peggy’s brother.
‘Perhaps I’m making more of it than I should,’ she said, dipping a chip in a beautifully golden egg yolk. ‘What d’you think? Could Marty have caught sight of Peggy and Pete together in the past?’
‘How should I know? Anyway, it’s none of our business,’ said Jimmy, making a chip butty.
‘But they’re our friends,’ said Irene, frowning.
Jimmy shrugged and bit into his butty. ‘So what? I’m not interfering,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘Especially knowing Peggy’s a Catholic and Pete isn’t! If her father’s dead set against her marrying a Proddy, then it can only mean trouble all round. You keep out of it.’
Irene had decided that she did not want to keep out of it but knew it was pointless saying so to her brother. Only when the pair of them had finished their meal and were drinking a second cup of tea did she say, ‘Mam married Uncle Terence and he was a Proddy!’
‘He wasn’t religious – and you can bet it was she who stipulated they married at English Martyrs.’
‘But Mam allowed me to go with my friends to the state school at Litherland High, and she’s best mates with Gertie who’s a Proddy,’ she countered.
‘That’s because she doesn’t consider a girl’s education as important as a boy’s. I bet if Dad hadn’t been killed in the war, he would have insisted on you going to a convent school. From what I’ve heard, he was strict Irish Catholic. I bet it’s the same with Peggy’s father.’
Irene sighed, drained her teacup to the dregs and stood up. ‘It’s not right. We’re supposed to love each other, even our enemies.’
He shrugged. ‘Some hope! Anyway, you’ll find a lot of the oldies saying you’re better sticking with your own kind.’
‘But times are changing!’ Irene insisted. ‘You can’t tell me that two wars and the Labour party haven’t made a difference to how people view religion, the class system and a woman’s place in the scheme of things.’
Jimmy yawned and stretched. ‘You’re not going to start banging on about women’s rights, are you?’
She felt her temper rising. ‘What’s wrong with women wanting equal wages with men for the same job? Besides, they don’t want to be stuck at home all day with kids. These days a lot of wives don’t want to give up their jobs once they’re married. Some want to carry on working even when a baby comes along.’
‘OK! Don’t lose your rag! I wasn’t looking for an argument. I’m all for women getting their due. Although what this has to do with Peggy and Pete, I don’t know.’
‘She shouldn’t care about having her father’s permission when it comes to marrying the person she loves,’ said Irene, her hands gripping the edge of the table. ‘Especially when she’s already over twenty-one. It’s too, too old-fashioned! We’re not living in Victorian times any more! Parents don’t own their children, so fathers shouldn’t be giving away their daughters as if they were parcels for husbands to unwrap once they’re married!’
Jimmy looked shocked. ‘What a thing to say! I wish you’d stop going on. Go and do something useful, like wash the dishes.’
She gasped. ‘I hope that’s a joke! Anyway, I’ll only wash them if you dry!’
Jimmy grinned unexpectedly. ‘Anything for a bit of peace.’ He stood up. ‘I don’t know why you go on the way you do when you have a job that only women do.’
‘Because I’m not just thinking about myself, that’s why!’ she snapped.
‘OK! I hope there’s nothing more you’re going to nag about,’ he groaned, picking up his plate and cutlery.
Irene hesitated. ‘Well, actually there is. Could you ask Peggy whether her brother, Marty, married that girl who went for Jeanette at the Stadium?’
‘What for?’ He fixed her with a stare. ‘You’re not fancying him, are you? The way you were looking at him on the train I thought it might have been love at first sight with you.’
She let out a tinkle of laughter. ‘You are joking? Forget I asked! I was just being nosy. I don’t suppose it’s important. It’s not as if it’s going to change my life, is it?’
Three
Peggy drew the skirts of the scarlet tent coat, which had been a Christmas present to herself, tightly about her legs. The last thing she wanted was to get flakes of grimy whitewash emulsion on the material. Carefully, she drew back the bolt on the backyard door, glad that at least her father was handy with the oilcan. The other bolt lower down made scarcely a sound and neither did the latch when she lifted it, enabling her to slip through the gap between door and frame like a shadow.
She closed the door and released the breath she had been holding in. Then she walked as swiftly as possible in the black patent-leather high heels along the entry, lit only at the far end by a street lamp on a yard wall. She came to a shorter entry that ran between the end house on their street and the pub on the corner that faced on to the main road.
The din from the customers talking and singing and that of a piano being played was ear-splitting. A young man, hanging about outside the pub with some others, wolf-whistled as she click-clacked past the group. A faint smile curved her painted lips as she stood waiting to cross Scotland Road to the bus stop on the other side.
A hand suddenly clapped her on the shoulder, causing her to almost jump out of her skin. ‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ growled her father.
Peggy had her answer ready before he spun her round to face him. She presumed Marty had made no mention of her plans to their parents. ‘I’ve a message for Bernie!’ she blurted out.
‘Who’s this message from?’ demanded her father.
Peggy moistened her lips. ‘You can’t expect me to tell you that, Dad. It’s private!’
He prodded her with his forefinger. ‘You shouldn’t be delivering private messages to her. What’s she up to? I’ve never trusted her. Blowsy, big-mouthed, she tricked my son into marriage.’ William McGrath’s heavy-lidded eyes were like slits. ‘As for you, daughter, you not only seem to think I’m half-blind, beli
eving you can sneak out the back way, but you’re a fool if you think I’ll fall for that tale! I want to see this message.’
Despite her shaking knees and the sick feeling in her stomach, Peggy managed to say in a trembling voice, ‘It’s by word of mouth, Dad. And I can’t tell you because I crossed my heart and hoped to die when asked.’
‘Don’t you dare to defy me, girl!’ His fingers tightened on her shoulder. ‘You’ll tell me now or you’ll be sorry. Besides, I’m not having a daughter of mine walking the streets alone on New Year’s Eve, all dressed up to the nines and with a painted face. People will think you’re a tart!’
The insult angered her. ‘I’m no tart! And it’s an important message!’
His eyes narrowed. ‘The pair of you are meeting someone, aren’t you? And her a married woman!’
Before she could say another word, a familiar voice said, ‘What’s going on?’
Peggy experienced a flood of relief and smiled at Marty. He was accompanied by the cousin from Ireland. They were carrying a crate of beer between them and she guessed they were taking it to Bernie’s mother’s house where the whole family would be celebrating the arrival of 1958.
‘This one says she’s got a message for Bernie,’ said William. ‘She won’t tell me what it says. I’d have it out with that wife of yours, if I were you, lad! Wives shouldn’t be having secrets from their husbands.’
Marty’s eyes flicked over his sister’s face. ‘It’s probably just some women’s thing and nothing to get worked up about, Dad.’
Growing up with a mother and two sisters and then living with Bernie, her mother, a widowed sister and her daughter under the same roof for near enough four years, he had long come to the conclusion that a man was best turning a blind eye to women’s shenanigans.