by Pam Howes
‘Maybe it wasn’t Ivy who reported me, but it was her you slept with.’
Joe shook his head and went back into the sitting room. The girls were sitting quietly together, looking at a book, their earlier spat forgotten. ‘Carol, come on, we’re going home.’
‘But what about our walk?’ Dora said.
‘What’s the point? I’ll see you next week. Phone me if you need anything.’ He threw an envelope down onto the coffee table and pulled Carol to her feet. ‘Your money,’ he said, pointing to the envelope.
Dora chewed her lip, close to tears as he slammed the front door behind him. She turned as Jackie tugged on the hem of her skirt. She lifted her up and gave her a cuddle. ‘Shall we ice the cakes? We can take them to Granny’s tomorrow when Uncle Frank comes to pick us up.’
Jackie smiled and snuggled into Dora’s neck. Dora carried her through into the kitchen and pulled a stool out for her daughter to stand on near the drop-leaf front of the cabinet. If only Carol would let her get close and cuddle her like Jackie did.
‘What you lookin’ at, yer nosy cow!’
Dora peered through her bedroom nets across the street at the show the Ugly Sisters were performing in the middle of the road. A woman from the house next to Gloria’s had stuck her head out of the window and was yelling at them to stop carrying on. Gloria, in full voice, was warbling Guy Mitchell’s song ‘She Wears Red Feathers’ with Freda joining in.
‘Come on, gel, you’re makin’ a right holy show of yerself. Gerrin the bleedin’ ’ouse.’ Freda’s husband, who was struggling to stay upright, dragged his wife by the arm up onto the pavement. She kicked and screamed until he let go as more windows opened and voices yelled for a bit of bloody peace and quiet.
Dora let the curtain fall back into place and sat down on the edge of her bed. Their first Saturday here and so far it had been a disaster. Jackie was curled up with her teddy bear, fast asleep, thumb in mouth. She refused to sleep in her own bed. Mam had warned her that would happen. She was so used to sharing a bed with Dora. Tears trickled down her face as she thought of how different her life was now to how it should have been. When they’d worked at Palmer’s factory, both she and Joanie had had such high hopes for their wonderful futures filled with children and happy times with the men they loved and running their own dressmaking business. Now Joanie was dead, Frank got upset if anyone even mentioned her name these days, Joe was no longer Dora’s. Add two confused little girls to the mix and it was all such a mess.
The racket outside stopped and the slamming of doors heralded a peaceful silence. Dora sighed and wiped her eyes. Tomorrow she planned to take some flowers from Mam’s garden to the graves of her dad and Joanna, who were in the same plot, and Joanie’s grave nearby. She moved Jackie across to her own side of the bed and slid in beside her, hoping she’d get a few hours’ sleep at least. Frank was coming to pick them up at ten thirty. She’d leave Jackie at her mam’s while she visited the graves.
Dora tidied the dead flowers away and put fresh sweet peas and sweet williams into the vase on her dad and baby Joanna’s grave. She blew a kiss at the headstone inscriptions and got to her feet. As she made her way across to Joanie’s grave she caught sight of the woman in black, hurrying out of the churchyard. So she was a mourner after all – but who was she mourning and where did she come from? Dora frowned. It was very odd. No one from the village had passed away for some time, otherwise Mam would have known all about it.
She knelt down at Joanie’s graveside and picked up a large bunch of dead flowers. She wondered who’d put them there; they looked professionally arranged, with a faded red bow around the dirty paper wrapping. Joanie’s mam wouldn’t have bought them – she always brought flowers from her garden – and Frank found it hard to visit the grave and left it to Dora and Joanie’s family. There was a card stuffed into the flowers and Dora pulled it out. On the front it had the message, To Grandma, Happy Birthday, from Billy, Harry and Enid. xxx
Dora looked around, wondering how the bouquet had ended up on Joanie’s grave. Maybe it had been blown there from a nearby plot, although the weather had been mild and calm lately, so that was unlikely. Then she saw a scribbled message on the other side of the card and the words turned her stomach.
You got what you deserved and so did the bitch you worked with. Hope you like your dead flowers.
Dora’s hand flew to her mouth. She felt sick. Who would put such a horrible message on Joanie’s grave? And did ‘the bitch you worked with’ mean her? But why? What had they ever done to deserve this? It didn’t make any sense at all. She felt a trickle of fear run down her spine and looked over her shoulder and all around, but she was the only one in the churchyard. Earlier in the morning there would have been the usual service, but people had long gone home for their Sunday dinners. Dora pushed the card into her jacket pocket and threw the dead bouquet into a nearby bin. She placed fresh flowers in the little vase on Joanie’s grave and topped it up with water she’d brought in a mineral bottle, at Mam’s suggestion.
‘And you say there was no one around when you got there?’ Mam asked, turning the small card over and shaking her head. ‘Only I always pop by the graves and say hello to them all as I pass through the churchyard on my way back from Sunday service. It wasn’t there then, I’m sure of that.’
Dora had waited until they’d finished their dinner, Jackie was upstairs having a nap and they were sitting comfortably with a glass of sherry before she showed them the card. Frank was sitting stony-faced on the sofa with a glass of pale ale. A pulse flickered in his right cheek as he snatched the card from Mam’s hand and threw it onto the fire.
‘Why did you do that?’ Mam asked. ‘Someone might have recognised the handwriting.’
‘And what good would that do?’ he snapped. ‘It won’t bring her back. I’ll kill whoever wrote it if I get my hands on them. I’d like to know what they meant by it.’
Dora took a sip of her sherry as a thought struck her. ‘The only person I saw this morning was that woman with the black coat. The stranger we saw at the street party. She was hurrying out of the churchyard and she didn’t look round or anything and let on to me. I just assumed she was a mourner visiting a grave.’
Mam pursed her lips. ‘Hmm, well that’s funny, because a few people have reported seeing her recently. We were all wondering if it’s her who’s been stealing the food from our kitchens. You remember how she crammed her pockets with leftovers at the street party? She’s obviously going hungry and just helps herself when an opportunity presents. I bet it was her put them dead flowers and that nasty message on Joanie’s grave.’
Frank looked at Mam as though she’d gone mad. ‘Don’t be so bloody daft. Why would a complete stranger do something like that? How could the woman possibly know who Joanie is, and who our Dora is, come to that? She might be guilty of nicking a bit of scran, but we can’t know she was behind the flowers, surely.’
Dora shrugged. ‘It is a bit odd though. That she should be the only one around before I saw them, I mean. We need to find out who she is and where she lives.’
Mam shook her head. ‘We’ve had no joy with that, chuck. Like I say, no one knows her or where she disappears to when she leaves the village.’
Frank topped up their glasses and Dora told them about the events of Saturday, her fall-out with Joe and the noisy neighbours and their antics. ‘Oh, and I saw a job for a seamstress advertised in a shop window yesterday. I’m going to call in on Monday morning to find out a bit more about it.’
Mam frowned. ‘And who will look after our Jackie if you get the job? Sadie’s got enough on her hands with her own brood and I can’t come into the city every day. It’s too much for me.’
‘Mam, I wouldn’t expect you to do that. My next-door neighbour Vi might have her for a few days. She’s really good with Sadie’s little ones and our Jackie seems to have taken a shine to her as well.’
‘Hmm, and how old is this Vi? It might get too much for her, looking after a kidd
ie all day.’
‘She’s not elderly. I would say late forties. Her boys are grown up and left home. So she’s on her own, and I can offer her some money depending on what I earn. I’ll still do my own customers’ clothes at night to keep me afloat.’
‘Well, I suppose all you can do is see what the job involves and then take it from there. But it’ll be hard work for you.’
Dora nodded and changed the subject before her mam put further mockers on her plans. She told them about Joe needing a helping hand in the school holidays with Carol, and Mam beamed.
‘We’ll sort something out with him. Frank can go round one night after work and make the arrangements.’
9
On Monday morning Dora fixed her hair up into a French pleat. She put on her only unladdered pair of stockings that she saved for best, and a pale green tweed two-piece she’d made last year. The skirt flared gently just above her knee and the close-fitting jacket was finished with a neat peplum around the bottom edge. Her brown court shoes and bag finished the look. Jackie was already round at Sadie’s having breakfast with Peter and Belinda and they were all going into Vi’s for a story while Sadie got on with her washing. Dora slicked her lips with her favourite Tangee lipstick and smiled at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. The suit made her feel professional and confident and she hoped that feeling would convey itself to Samuel Jacobs.
As she locked her front door a loud wolf-whistle blasted in her direction. She glanced across the street and saw a gangly youth leaning against the window ledge of Gloria’s house, ciggie dangling from his mouth, dripping paintbrush in his hand. Lenny Smyth; the eldest son, a cocky and arrogant lad, Sadie had told her. He appeared to be painting the sill in the same colour red as hers. Gloria appeared at the open front door and gave him a clip around the ear.
‘Gerron with it,’ she yelled. ‘If it’s good enough for Lady Muck over there then it’s good enough for us. And youse can do yer Aunty Freda’s when you’ve finished mine.’ She went back inside and the lad shot Dora an embarrassed smirk.
Dora tried her door handle, making sure it was locked before she went on her way. You couldn’t leave your doors unlocked and go shopping here like you could in Knowsley. It was a bit unnerving but no doubt she’d get used to it. She smiled at a half-dressed toddler wandering along the pavement. She presumed it was a boy. He wore a grubby blue top and his wet nappy hung down almost to his knees. She wondered where he’d come from. The door of the last house on the street stood ajar. Maybe he’d slipped out of there without his mother noticing.
As Dora looked back at the child, who was crossing the street now and going towards Gloria’s son, a young woman shot out of the open door and screeched at the top of her voice, making Dora jump.
‘Mikey, get back here, yer little bugger!’ She ran past Dora and grabbed the child, dragging him by the hand back to the house. She scowled as she caught Dora’s eye. ‘’Ere, are youse from the welfare come to spy on me? My eldest lad must have left the door open when he went to school. I was feeding my baby and Mikey slipped out without my seeing him. I don’t neglect my kids, yer know.’
Dora took a small step back as the front door opened further and a fetid smell wafted out. Another small child of around four stared at her, his blue eyes round in his dirty little face. She shook her head. ‘I’m sure you don’t. And no, I’m not from the welfare. I live down there.’ She pointed up the street.
‘Oh, right. Well I’m Della,’ the woman introduced herself. ‘I thought you were somebody important with you being dressed up posh like that. Nobody dresses up posh around ’ere. You must be Sadie’s new neighbour, the one that makes frocks. I’d best get back inside and finish feeding my little fella. Nice to meet you, er…?’
‘Dora.’ She smiled and hurried on her way. That poor woman. She had her hands full with her four boys. But Sadie had four kids and another on the way, yet her house and children were spotless and well-cared-for and Sadie was always neat and tidy herself. Maybe Della’s husband had no job to bring in a decent wage to keep them all. Cleanliness costs nothing but a bar of soap, as her mam was always saying. She’d ask Sadie about Della later when she picked up Jackie. It made her feel so sad to think of the welfare ordering her to give up Carol when she had looked after her, kept her clean, loved and well fed. She’d always done her best. It didn’t seem fair that kids who lived in squalor down here were allowed to stay with their parents. Surely health visitors would raise an eyebrow. She blinked rapidly as her eyes filled, and carried on her way.
As she walked down Homer Street Dora’s confidence started to ebb. What if the job had already gone? It was half-past nine; somebody might have got there earlier and been waiting for the owner to open.
Thankfully the card was still on the door. She took a deep breath and entered the shop. A little brass bell positioned above the door rang out and a plump, pleasant-faced woman standing behind the large counter smiled. The woman wore a navy dress and her dark hair was fastened up like Dora’s in a neat French pleat.
‘Good morning, madam,’ the woman greeted her. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Good morning,’ Dora replied. ‘I’ve, er, I’ve come about the job.’ She pointed to the card on the door. ‘The seamstress’s job.’
The woman’s face lit up. She gestured to a wooden chair near the front of the counter. ‘Take a seat, my dear. My husband is upstairs in the workroom. I’ll go and fetch him.’
Dora smiled and sat down. She glanced around the large shop. It was bright and airy, with the double windows letting in a lot of light. The shelves were well-stocked with boxes, all labelled with various haberdashery requirements: zips, bias-binding, fancy lace, buttons, hooks and eyes, needles and threads in all colours, each colour allocated its own box. Dora always felt a buzz of excitement whenever she walked into a haberdashery store; the smell of new fabric and the anticipation of choosing something she could make into a pretty dress or skirt. She heard footsteps on the stairs and a tall man with a bushy beard appeared behind the counter, followed by his wife.
‘Samuel Jacobs.’ He extended a large hand and gripped Dora’s in a firm handshake.
‘Dora Rodgers,’ she said, smiling broadly. The man had dark brown twinkly eyes and a neat little black skull-cap on top of his head, partly hiding hair that was sprinkled with grey, like his beard. His black clothes were covered in bits of thread and there was even a length of white cotton dangling from above his left ear. She immediately felt comfortable in his presence. His wife was nodding her head as though pleased by what she saw.
‘Would you like to follow me, Dora, and I’ll explain what we do here. Esther will make us tea – or do you prefer coffee?’
‘Tea would be lovely, thank you,’ Dora replied and smiled at Mrs Jacobs, who disappeared into a back room. Dora followed Mr Jacobs up a flight of wide wooden stairs and stepped into a huge, well-lit room that held dressmakers’ dummies in various stages of undress, two tables with sewing machines and another large table where a length of fabric was laid out ready for cutting, a paper pattern pinned onto it.
‘This is a wonderful work space,’ she said. ‘So bright and well laid out.’
‘Yes, it is a nice place to work,’ Samuel Jacobs said. ‘I take it you have experience in the trade, Dora? Is it okay if I call you Dora?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then you must call me Sammy. My wife and I don’t like to stand on ceremony. Ah, and here she is with our tea. Thank you, Esther, my dear.’
Esther placed a tray, set with a lace cloth and flowered-sprigged china, onto one of the sewing tables. ‘You must try my biscuits, Dora. Lemon and ginger. I made them yesterday. By the way, your outfit is lovely. Such an attractive shade of green. No doubt made by your own fair hands?’ Dora nodded and replied that it was indeed designed and made by her. Esther smiled and left them to it.
Sammy pulled out a chair for Dora. ‘Quality work,’ he said approvingly. He sat on the edge of a table and listened as Dor
a told him about her sewing background.
He looked at her closely when she stopped mid-sentence and took a deep shuddering breath. ‘So, you and your friend decided not to go ahead with your business plans then?’
She sighed. ‘Sadly Joanie died before we got the business off the ground properly. I’ve been trying to build things up by myself, but my marriage broke down and I’ve only just managed to find a place of my own to work in again. I have a few regular customers, but I’m not as busy as I’d like to be; which is why I’m looking for a job.’
He nodded and silently stroked his beard. ‘I’m sorry about your friend. It’s always hard to lose someone close.’
‘Joanie was more than a friend.’ Dora sighed again. ‘She was family, married to my brother. It was a tragedy all round.’
‘You said you both worked in a clothing factory? She wasn’t the young lady who perished in Palmer’s, in that fire? The boss and his accomplice were arrested for involuntary manslaughter. Terrible business.’
Dora nodded. ‘Yes, that was Joanie.’ She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. Joanie’s death was hard to talk about, but if she were to end up working here, in close proximity to Samuel Jacobs, it was best that he knew something of her background. There was a wireless playing quietly in the room and Dora knew that certain songs could trigger tears, no matter how hard she tried not to cry. He may as well know about her history, warts and all, before he made up his mind to employ her. One thing she wouldn’t talk about to a stranger, though, was her bouts of post-pregnancy depression. She hadn’t even told him she had children yet.
‘Are you living in this area now, Dora?’
‘Yes. I’ve just taken a lease on a little house not far from the Dock Road – well, it’s in-between there and Scotland Road. I’m hoping to be rehoused into something new eventually. I, er, I have a young daughter who will be looked after by family and neighbours while I work.’ She crossed her fingers on her lap, hoping that would turn out to be true. ‘So I can be quite flexible with the hours.’