Just Around the Corner

by Gilda O'Neill

‘Oi!’ bawled Phoebe. ‘I was talking.’

  ‘Aw, was yer, Phoeb?’ Katie said contemptuously. ‘Sorry, I thought it was yer guts rumbling.’ With that, she and Peggy walked out of the shop.

  Phoebe was livid. She ran to the door and shouted after them, ‘And the way your two girls have been getting ’emselves done up, them and their haircuts. Disgusting, that’s what it is. Girls their age! White slavery, that’s what’ll become of them, I’m telling yer. I’ve said it often enough. White slavery. My granddaughter’d never be seen dead got up like them two. Never. She’s been brought up right though, she has.’

  ‘If she only knew half the stories going round about her darling granddaughter, eh, Kate?’ Peggy whispered.

  ‘Yeah, but I’ll bet none of them stories are true,’ said Katie shaking her head. Then added with a chuckle, ‘’Cos, although yer’d never believe it, Peg, there’s actually people what get pleasure from spreading lies and gossip.’

  They were still chuckling, as much from relief to be away from Phoebe as anything else, when they reached Peggy’s house at number nine. Katie went to cross the street over to hers, but Peggy stopped her with a touch on her arm.

  ‘I really will be glad if our Liz takes up with Danny,’ she said, ‘’cos, much as I hate to admit it, Kate, Phoebe’s right about one thing: girls are a right worry, ain’t they?’

  ‘I know I got meself all worked up just now, Peg, but I don’t think we’ve really got nothing to worry about with our kids.’

  ‘No, I ain’t saying we have, but it’s who they get mixed up with, ain’t it? I don’t wanna sound like Phoebe, spreading stories, but did you hear they found another baby dumped in the lake over Vicky Park? Some other poor cow what got caught out and couldn’t manage.’

  Katie sighed. ‘How do they get ’emselves in that state, eh girl?’

  Peggy shrugged. ‘Ain’t too difficult, I don’t reckon. That’s why I hope something does come of this business with my Lizzie and your Dan. Least I won’t have to worry about who she’s out with, will I?’

  Katie smiled reassuringly. ‘And I hope so too, Peg, I really do. And not just ’cos I’m right fond of your Liz, but ’cos I feel for you and all. Having to see yer little girl turning into a young woman must be so hard. I’m just glad my Molly ain’t started getting herself involved with no blokes yet. I’ve got enough to worry about indoors, more than enough, without any o’ that lark.’

  7

  WHILE KATIE AND Nora were getting on with the rest of the washing in the back scullery of number twelve, Molly was busy getting on with her job at Terson’s, the tea blenders near the docks where she worked with Liz Watts.

  Katie and Nora’s work might have been heavy and boring, but at least the two women could take breaks if they felt like it; and even though Katie wasn’t exactly in the mood that day for having a laugh and a joke as she usually did with her mum, she could still stop for a while, in between the pounding and boiling, the rinsing and wringing, mangling and pegging out, just to enjoy the sun on her face. But where Molly and Liz worked, there was no such luxury: every action was dictated by the need to keep up with the team.

  Each team was made up of six girls, sitting three aside along a wooden workbench. The first two girls held empty paper packets under the metal funnels, collecting pre-weighed amounts of tea as it was shot down from the room above. They then banged the bottoms of the packets on the bench, tapping down the loose leaves, before passing them on to the next pair of girls, whose job was to stick down the top flaps and then gum on the labels. The last pair of girls parcelled the packets into six pound stacks on the wooden pallets, which were then collected by the young men who rushed in and out carrying the tea away to the store room or to the loading bays, where the delivery men waited by their vans.

  It wasn’t only the speed of the machinery and the pressure of doing piece work – when slowing down meant letting down your other team members – that dictated the working conditions at Terson’s Quality Teas, it was also the noise. With the whirring and shushing, clanking and banging, tapping and scraping, constantly barraging them, it was no wonder that they rarely stopped to chat, or rather to yell above the racket, with the others. There wasn’t even any point trying to peer out of the skylights to admire the summer sky, as the years of tea dust had darkened the mean little windowpanes to a uniform brownish grey.

  But the work gave the girls a lot of time to dream and, unsurprisingly, Terson’s didn’t figure in many of their fantasies, most of which, if Molly was anyone to go by, figured some sort of escape from the monotony of packing tea. Molly had said it to Liz more than once, if it hadn’t been for the just about passable wages – which included the bonuses that meant working even faster than the break-neck speed that Mrs MacKenzie, the stern-faced overseer expected of them – Molly would have told old Terson exactly what he could do with his tea packets, and she would have smiled as she said it. But her mum had come to depend upon Molly’s money to supplement the ever-dwindling family kitty.

  It was all very well for the older women, some of whom looked even more ancient than old Terson himself, going on about what a privilege it was to work there and what big money they had earned in the good old days, but that was all before Molly and Liz’s time. In more recent years, what with unemployment being the way it was, Terson had been able to cut the bonuses with impunity, again and again, until now it had to be an exceptional week for them to earn more than two pounds for the boring, repetitive, mind-numbing work. And so it was with the usual weary relief that the girls heard the whistle go for knocking-off time and they each hastily gummed on their final and most lop-sided label of the day.

  As they queued to file past the tight-lipped overseer for the regular, humiliating check to ensure that none of them was pilfering Mr Terson’s precious tea leaves, Molly bent forward and whispered into Liz’s ear, ‘Look at that old mare. Yer’d think it was her bleed’n tea the way she watches us. Right flaming bundle o’ laughs, ain’t she?’ Molly shoved Liz forward. ‘Now yer know what people mean when they say how lucky we are being in work. It’s having her moosh smiling down at us like our guardian angel that makes it all worthwhile.’

  Liz stifled a giggle. ‘I reckon it gets more like one of them holiday camp places every day. Yer know, I can’t wait to get here of a morning ’cos it’s such a pleasure seeing her happy face.’

  They took another step closer to Mrs MacKenzie and Molly held her hand up to her mouth to muffle her words. ‘There’s no other answer, Liz, we’ll have to get ourselves a couple of rich old boys to take care of us and give us a life of luxury like what we deserve. Then we can toss flipsy to this old bat and spend our days eating bags of sweets and listening to the wireless.’

  Liz rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Aw yeah, brilliant idea, that’s just what yer need, Moll, another bloke on the firm. What, ain’t two enough for yer?’

  Molly curled her lip. ‘Yer as clever as old Dick’s hatband, you are.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ nodded Liz at the familiar saying. ‘I know, and that went round twice and still wouldn’t tie.’

  It was almost their turn to parade past Mrs MacKenzie and her scrutinising stare. They watched as she assessed the hapless worker in front of them for any sign of criminal activity involving tea leaves.

  ‘Imagine what her old man’s like,’ hissed Molly under her breath, tipping her chin towards the overseer. ‘Fancy, you know, having to do it with her. Mind you, perhaps his eyesight ain’t very good.’ Without missing a beat, Molly treated the overseer to a sweet smile and a dazzling display of teeth. ‘Night-night, Mrs MacKenzie. See yer tomorrow.’

  Liz too smiled at the would-be exposer of tea thieves, before turning to Molly and groaning wretchedly, ‘Don’t, Moll, yer making me feel sick.’

  The girls rushed into the changing rooms and tore off their hated overdresses and cotton hats that looked more like pancakes than headgear. Then they were free.

  Safely outside of the factory, they leant against th
e high, blank walls and lifted their faces to the sun.

  Liz’s eyes sparkled mischievously beneath her heavy blonde fringe. ‘Would yer really do it, Moll? Like that Irene did?’

  ‘What you on about now?’

  Would yer marry an old boy like Laney just ’cos he had a few bob?’

  Molly pushed herself away from the wall, tossed back her head and clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Maybe she loves him, Liz.’

  ‘Yeah, some hopes.’ Liz nodded good night to one of the other girls who was rushing off to get her tram. ‘Loves his wallet, more like.’

  Molly screwed up her nose. ‘Can you imagine what he looks like in his vest and pants with that big belly of his hanging over the elastic?’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Say you had to kiss him!’ she mumbled through her fingers.

  Liz winced as she dug around in her bag for the toffees she knew were in there somewhere. ‘Euuurr! Do us a favour, Moll,’ she said, handing one of the sweets to her. ‘And she’s right pretty and all, ain’t she, that Irene? Lovely clothes. And I don’t suppose she’s much older than us two neither.’

  Molly chewed thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what she’s like.’ She screwed up the toffee paper and flicked it into the dusty gutter. ‘You ever talked to her?’

  ‘No.’ Liz shook her head. ‘She says good morning and that to me mum, but I don’t think she really talks to anyone proper, like. No chatting or nothing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind talking to her, yer know, Liz. See what she’s like.’

  ‘What, to get a few tips?’ chuckled Liz.

  Molly didn’t join in with her laughter. ‘No, to see how hard yer’d have to be to do something like that. To not care what anyone else thought of yer, no matter what yer did.’

  ‘I think yer wrong there, Moll. I reckon she does care. That’s why she don’t talk to no one; she’s too ashamed. I mean, you ain’t gotta be a flipping genius, now have yer? Everyone knows why she’s with him.’

  Molly linked her arm through Liz’s and they began walking home. ‘And I know something and all, Liz, and I’ll tell yer it for nothing. I’d rather be totally, completely, stony, boracic lint, than marry a bloke what I didn’t love. Loving him’d be everything for me, no matter who or what he was.’

  Liz pulled her arm away from Molly and began running along ahead of her friend. ‘So, that’s what yer doing, is it?’ she called over her shoulder, a broad grin lighting up her face. ‘Yer trying out all the blokes yer can get yer hands on, so’s yer can see what one takes yer fancy before yer say “I will”.’

  ‘You wait and see, Lizzie Watts, I’ll wind up with the best-looking geezer yer’ve ever seen in all your life,’ Molly yelled, taking up the chase. ‘And I’ll really love him, and he’ll really love me and all.’

  ‘What? Only the one?’

  ‘Yer just jealous ’cos they can’t resist me!’

  Out of breath from running in the afternoon heat, Liz stopped, turned round and waited for Molly to catch up with her. ‘Have yer, you know,’ she puffed, ‘let either of ’em kiss yer yet?’

  Molly cocked her head to one side and thought for a moment. ‘Might have done,’ she said casually. ‘In fact, I might have kissed both of ’em. Right smack on the lips. Mmmmwwwaaa! Just like that.’ Then she ran off, giggling and swinging her bag, leaving Liz standing there, open-mouthed and speechless.

  Ten minutes later, Molly was walking into the kitchen of number twelve.

  ‘Hello, love,’ said Katie, looking up from the saucepan she was stirring. ‘You’re home early.’

  ‘Yeah,’ panted Molly, ‘me and Liz wound up running all the way home.’

  ‘What, in this weather? I dunno where you kids get yer energy.’

  Molly joined her mother at the stove and looked down into the pot. ‘That looks nice,’ she said, not sounding very convincing.

  ‘I know it’s sausage stew again,’ Katie said, ‘but what with yer dad’s work being the way it is . . .’

  ‘Remember when, every Monday, we used to have the cold meat left over from Sunday with mash and pickles for our tea?’ Molly said longingly. ‘I couldn’t half go that now, Mum.’

  ‘We’re lucky to have food on the table at all,’ Katie snapped.

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  Katie let the spoon drop into the pot and then rubbed her hands over her face. ‘I know, darling, and I didn’t mean to have a go at yer. Look, while we’ve got a bit of peace and quiet, you put the kettle on while I go and fetch in the last of the washing, and then we can sit down and have a little talk before the others get in. Just the two of us. How’d that be?’

  Molly picked up the kettle, took it over to the sink and turned on the tap before she answered. ‘If yer like,’ she said warily.

  She frowned as she watched her mum go out into the back yard and start unpegging the sheets. This was all a bit ominous, she thought. It wasn’t like Mum to be so formal about things. It wasn’t the way things happened, not with the Mehans. If someone had something to say they just went ahead and said it, or, more often than not, they shouted it so that they could be heard over the row being made by all the others. There was none of this sitting down and having talks over the teacups. What on earth was going on? Surely that kid with the football who saw her with Simon hadn’t split on her?

  Katie came back into the kitchen and dumped the dry washing on to the table next to a pile that had already been neatly folded. Without saying a word, Molly picked up one of the sheets and held out an end to her mother, then they began silently folding the sheet side to side then end to end. They worked their way through six sheets and a stack of pillowcases before either of them said a word.

  It was Molly who spoke first. ‘Is something up, Mum?’

  ‘This lot’ll keep me busy ironing tomorrow,’ Katie said, briskly scooping up the now teetering pile of laundry from the table and carrying it through to the front parlour. Unlike some women, Katie was never content just to run the dry sheets back through the mangle again to smooth out the creases. She liked doing things properly, even if it did make more work.

  ‘That kettle boiling yet?’ she asked as she reappeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve made the tea.’ Molly carried the pot over to the table. ‘Now are you gonna tell me what’s up, Mum?’ She sat down and, with a silent promise that she Would go to confession at the very soonest opportunity, she added as airily as she could manage, ‘’Cos I can’t think of anything I’m meant to have done.’

  Katie reached out and touched her daughter’s freckled cheek. ‘Daft, you ain’t done nothing, babe. I just thought we could have a chat, that’s all.’ She lowered her gaze, suddenly apparently fascinated by the worn wooden surface of the kitchen table. ‘You know how worried and busy I’ve been lately what with one thing and another,’ she went on. ‘I feel terrible that I ain’t had a chance to spend no time with me best girl.’

  Molly couldn’t figure out what her mum was leading up to, but at least it didn’t seem to be anything to do with Simon Blomstein or even Bob Jarvis. ‘I know yer’ve been busy, Mum.’

  Katie smiled wistfully. ‘Yer a good kid. I just want yer to be happy, and safe, and healthy, and all right. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, for you lot to be happy. I’m sorry I don’t have more time to, you know . . .’

  ‘I know,’ said Molly, not having a clue as to what her mum was going on about, but she had the feeling that if she kept agreeing with her then she wouldn’t go far wrong. ‘I’ll be all right, Mum.’

  ‘Will yer? Will yer really? You are happy, ain’t yer, Moll?’ She nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘And yer won’t get yerself in no bother or nothing?’

  ‘Me?’ Grabbing her cup by way of a distraction, Molly gulped down a mouthful of the scalding tea. ‘What sort of bother would I get in?’ She had, in a wild, fleeting moment almost added that she might be seeing two boys at the same time, but if anyone was going to get themselves into bother it would be their Sean not her, but she had immedi
ately, and wisely, thought better of it. She swallowed another burning mouthful of tea instead.

  Katie reached across the table and took Molly’s hand in hers. ‘I don’t mean it would be your fault, Moll,’ she said. ‘But yer not a little girl no more, are yer? Yer sixteen years of age, and that’s why I think it’s time we had a talk about things.’

  A flash of horrifying realisation came over Molly as she at last cottoned on to what her mother was hinting at. It was not going to be a talk, it was going to be The Talk. She didn’t want this, she really didn’t; it had been embarrassing enough when she had sat in Liz Watts’s bedroom while Liz had whispered, goggle-eyed and half disbelieving, all the information she had gleaned from her own mum about ‘things’ and what sort of trouble a girl could find herself bringing home if she wasn’t careful and didn’t respect herself.

  Molly withdrew her hand from her mother’s and fiddled with her now half empty though still steaming cup of tea. ‘Mum,’ she began nervously, ‘I don’t think we need to have this little talk.’

  ‘Aw?’ Katie snapped. ‘And why’s that then? You’re not telling me . . . You haven’t—’

  ‘No, Mum,’ Molly interrupted her, something she wouldn’t normally dream of doing, but she was scared that if she didn’t say something quick, then not only would she have to go through the embarrassment of The Talk but that her mum might somehow guess from her reaction that she had actually been kissing a boy. ‘It’s nothing like that. Honest. It’s just that, well, Lizzie’s already had this sort of talk thing with her own mum, like, and well . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Then Lizzie sort of told me.’

  Katie sighed loudly. ‘Hearing it from yer mate. I feel so guilty.’

  ‘Do yer?’ Molly was now really puzzled. She’d have thought her mum would have been glad they didn’t have to go through all the details.

  ‘I didn’t want it to be like this,’ said Katie, getting up from the table and going over to the stove. ‘I wanted it to be, I don’t know, special. Just between us. See, I love your nanna, Molly, but she never got round to telling me nothing. It was all right for her, being brought up in the country; I don’t suppose she thought. But I was that ignorant when I met yer dad. And I didn’t want it to be like that for you.’