by Pam Howes
On the way home, unable to keep it to herself any longer, Esther told Sammy about the phone call. He agreed that they’d talk to Sonny after their evening meal and try to get to the bottom of what had gone wrong.
As Sammy tidied the dishes away, Esther brought a pot of coffee through to the dining table and poured three cups. Sonny rose to his feet and announced he didn’t want any as he was going out.
Sammy told him to sit back down as he needed to talk to him. Esther patted his hand as Sonny frowned at them both. Sammy had kept quiet over their meal, wanting to eat in peace, but now he was ready to do battle.
‘I hope this isn’t going to take long,’ Sonny grumbled. ‘I’ve arranged to meet a friend.’
‘A friend?’ Esther muttered scornfully. ‘You mean a woman?’
Sonny shrugged. ‘A colleague from the bank, and yes, she’s a woman. But what’s that got to do with you?’
‘Everything, when your wife was on the phone this afternoon in tears, telling your mother that your house is about to be repossessed and you’ve left her with not a penny to her name,’ Sammy snapped as Sonny stared at him but remained silent.
‘Is it true?’ Sammy demanded. ‘That the mortgage hasn’t been paid for quite some time? I’m surprised the bank has allowed that situation to happen,’ he continued. ‘Considering you both work for them.’
A nervous twitch started in Sonny’s cheek as he stared at them. He drew a deep breath. ‘Marylyn stopped working when we started having marriage problems. Said she couldn’t cope. To keep us going I borrowed against the house. I struggled to pay it back. She wouldn’t agree to us selling it, I knew we couldn’t afford to hang onto it but she wouldn’t listen. I took all the money out of the account as I knew she’d spend it like it’s going out of fashion. But I did leave enough in to pay the mortgage this month. She must have spent it on clothes or something.’
‘That’s not what she told me,’ Esther said. She knew he was lying; he didn’t meet her eye as he spoke, a childhood trait he’d never grown out of. ‘She also said that you’d told her we would sort it out. Well I’m sorry, but that is not going to happen.’
Sammy nodded his agreement. ‘Not a cat-in-hell’s chance,’ he growled. ‘Now I suggest you go and pack your bags and get back down to London and deal with your mess. You’re not welcome here.’
Esther took a sip of her coffee. She felt sick inside and Sammy looked worried to death. She hated what their son was capable of. It went against everything they stood for and believed in. He cared about no one but himself and she knew he was living for the day when they both popped their clogs and he’d inherit all that they’d worked hard for, and he’d dance happily on their graves. Well, that wasn’t going to happen if she had anything to do with it. She and Sammy must talk about changing their wills.
‘I have nowhere to go,’ Sonny said, a hint of panic in his voice. ‘You can’t just throw me out like this. And I can’t afford to lose my job. If I go back to London now I might get the sack and then no one will benefit. Okay, if you don’t want me here, I’ll find somewhere to stay, see if a colleague at the bank can put me up, or something. I’ll get my things together and make a couple of phone calls.’
He left the dining room, slamming the door behind him. Sammy shook his head. ‘What a bloody mess.’
Esther pursed her lips. She could hear Sonny in the hall now, talking to someone on the phone, hopefully his wife. His voice rose a couple of octaves but she couldn’t tell what he was saying. Then he was back in the dining room, a pleading expression in his brown eyes.
‘Well?’ Sammy asked.
Sonny shrugged. ‘She’s drunk and I can’t get any sense out of her. She’s always drunk. You’ve no idea how hard it’s been for me the last few months, coping with that. And the friend I was hoping would put me up isn’t in. I’m not sleeping on the streets like a vagrant.’
Esther sighed, thinking his behaviour had probably driven the poor girl to drink.
‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ Sammy said. ‘But I’m telling you now, by the end of the week, your mother and I want you out. Either clear off back to London, or get yourself a flat or lodgings in the city. I don’t care what, as long as you are gone from our home.’
Sonny’s half-smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Thank you.’ He turned, walked towards the door and stopped. ‘Er, what about the rooms above the shop? The top floor. I could easily turn it into a flat; then I’d be out of your hair. I’ll be at work all day and home after you close, so I won’t get in your way or anything.’
Sammy shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The flat is already occupied.’ He said no more as Esther raised a warning eyebrow in his direction.
Sonny frowned. ‘I didn’t realise that. You never told me.’
‘Why would we? It’s got nothing to do with you,’ Sammy said. ‘Now if you don’t mind, your mother and I have a few things we’d like to discuss in private.’
Dora’s first meeting with Sonny Jacobs was not a good one. Sammy was out buying more dress fabric for all the orders their window display had brought in, and Esther was doing her usual Monday morning trip to the bank to pay the takings in, and she always called at the market too – to check out the bargains, as she put it. Dora was standing behind the counter leafing through another of the magazines that Sammy had bought, looking at pictures of the dirndl skirts and shell tops that also seemed to be popular with the young women today. The doorbell rang and a young dark-haired man stepped inside. He was smartly suited and carried a briefcase. Dora stared at him as he scrutinised her, looking her up and down. ‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘Is this what my father pays you for? To stand around reading when you should be working?’ His tone was curt, with none of the nasal twang of Liverpool about it. His voice was cultured and his eyes dark like his father’s, but lacking the kindness that shone in Sammy’s brown eyes.
‘I beg your pardon? How dare you insinuate I’m doing nothing?’ Dora spoke with a bravado she wasn’t really feeling.
He raised his chin slightly.
‘You are, are you not, my father’s employee?’
‘I’m his designer, yes.’
‘Ah, right. So shop girls have fancy titles now, do they?’ he sneered, his voice loaded with sarcasm.
‘Excuse me; I am not a shop girl. I design and make clothes. I’m a fully trained seamstress, I’ll have you know. Sammy is out buying fabric and Esther is at the bank. They won’t be long, if you’d like to take a seat. I’m just holding the fort for a few minutes.’
His shifty eyes flicked around the salesroom, taking in the stock and the window display. ‘Did you make the dresses in the window?’
She nodded, trying to think who he reminded her of. ‘I also designed them and custom-made the patterns.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘And there’s just you that makes them up?’
‘Yes.’ She wondered what he was getting at.
‘And do you have orders for the dresses?’
‘We do.’
‘Hmm. It seems my father is missing a trick here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dora folded her arms as he put down his briefcase.
‘He could be raking it in, but he needs more than one seamstress. You’re a designer; he needs more women to do the donkey work, the cutting out and stitching.’
Dora frowned. ‘There isn’t room for more people and machines. We’re not a factory. And I think your dad is happy enough as things are.’
‘Humph, he doesn’t have a business head on him. How can he be happy in this back-street shop when he could be a millionaire if he put his mind to it? He needs a factory and you could help him run it.’
Dora frowned and stared at him, and then it struck her who he reminded her of. George Kane. The son-in-law of Gerald Palmer, who’d founded her old place of work: Palmer’s Ladies Fashions of Distinction. Kane had run the business into the ground in no time after Gerald passed away. Taking constantly and putting no
thing back took its toll. Thinking for a moment of Joanie, who would still have been here but for Kane, Dora felt a huge angry rush. How dare this man come into his parents’ shop and criticise what they’d built up over the years when he’d practically stolen their savings to feather his own comfortable nest. He showed little respect for the privileged upbringing they’d given him.
‘Factories cost money,’ she snapped.
He waved his arms around. ‘He owns this place. He could borrow against it. My bank would be happy to lend money to a new business. That’s what this decade is all about. The war’s behind us. Regrowth, we’re building a future for tomorrow’s generation.’
Dora shook her head. He sounded like one of those newsreaders on the telly. ‘We’re just recovering from the war in Liverpool, or hadn’t you noticed? We’ve still got bomb-damaged houses near the docks. Things take time to get back to normal. All that stuff you talk about is okay for you London folk but it means little to us up here yet.’ She stopped as the doorbell rang and Esther hurried in, bringing a blast of cold air with her.
‘Still a bit parky out there,’ she said, then stopped as she saw Sonny. ‘What do you want? Shouldn’t you be at work?’ She glared at him as she put her bags down on the counter and pulled off her hat and coat.
Dora took the bags through to the back room for Esther and left mother and son alone while she put the kettle on. She could hear raised voices, Esther telling him to get out now, and then the bell ringing and door slamming. Esther popped her head around the doorframe. ‘Are you okay?’ Dora asked. She looked pale and tired and still hadn’t recovered from the cough that had plagued her for most of the winter.
‘Just got a bit of a headache. Did he say anything out of order to you?’
‘No, he just gave me a lecture on looking at magazines instead of working. Said you don’t pay me to do nothing.’
‘Cheeky so-and-so,’ Esther muttered through gritted teeth. ‘He’s done nothing but bring trouble home since the minute he came back to Liverpool. Upset me and his father constantly. He’s moved out and is sharing a flat with an old friend in Walton Vale for the time being. We don’t want him around. We’d rather he went back to London and we’ve made that quite clear, but he said he’s staying in Liverpool.’
Dora nodded. She didn’t blame them. ‘He, er, suggested that Sammy gets a factory up and running and the bank will loan the money.’ Dora picked up the kettle as it started to whistle and poured water into the tea pot.
Esther shook her head. ‘Oh he did, did he? He lives in cloud cuckoo land. Does he ever stop to consider the age of me and his father, I wonder? I was nearly forty before he was born and Sammy was forty-five. We would have been long retired if he’d paid us back his debts, but we can kiss goodbye to that money now. He’s got into a mess financially, his house is being repossessed and we still haven’t really got to the bottom of his marriage troubles and what went wrong either. But I tell you one thing, Dora, there’ll be no factory. Sammy is happy with the set-up we’ve got now. It keeps him and me busy enough.’
‘It does, and me – I love working here for you,’ Dora agreed. ‘And it gives me a home too.’
‘I’ve got you a job,’ Joe announced as he took off his work clothes in the bedroom. Ivy was in the kitchen dishing up his tea. Home-made steak and kidney pie; his favourite. She was a fabulous cook, there was no doubt about it, but her talents were wasted on him alone. He made his way to the table as she appeared with a laden plate in her hands. He rubbed his growling stomach as she placed it in front of him. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘What?’ she asked, bringing in her own plate and sitting down opposite him.
‘I said, I’ve got you a job,’ he repeated.
She frowned. ‘What do you mean? You know I’m not well enough to go out to work yet, Joe.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s part-time work. And I tell you what, why don’t I take an afternoon off and we’ll both go to the doctor’s and ask him how long he thinks it should take you to get over that miscarriage.’ He watched her face as her cheeks flushed slightly and she looked down at her plate. ‘I mean, it’s what, three years? If you’re still not right yet then there must be something they can do at the hospital.’ He tucked into his pie, relishing the taste of the rich gravy, waiting to see if he’d called her bluff. He needed her working. He was struggling unless he did overtime. Band work was drying up due to the clubs wanting solo singers like Johnny Ray, and even Elvis Presley now this new Rock ’n’ Roll music was catching on.
‘What’s the job?’ she asked, pushing her food around her plate.
‘Back at the canteen. But they said you can do part-time to start. The replacement cook isn’t a patch on you. The management will be happy for you to come back and give her a hand. The new cook wants to retire as soon as they find another.’
‘I’d be too embarrassed,’ she muttered.
‘Why? A lot of water’s gone under the bridge since then and everyone knows you’re my wife now. People ask about you. You’ve nothing to hide, have you?’
‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘It’d just feel a bit strange. That’s all.’
‘Right, well they said call in tomorrow and talk about it. The bottom line is, I need you working, Ivy. I’ve got a family to support as well as you. We all need to pull our weight. Dora does her best but I like to help her out where I can with the girls. They always need something new at that age.’ He finished his meal and got to his feet. ‘Right, I’m relaxing with the Echo for five minutes now we’ve sorted that out.’
Joe walked away, aware of her eyes burning in his back. He now knew she’d snared him under false pretences and he wasn’t about to let her get away with it. A band mate of his had a wife who worked in Ivy’s doctor’s surgery. She’d put her job on the line to get him the information he’d asked for and he’d be forever grateful. Ivy’s records had showed no sign of a recorded miscarriage. A premature baby had been born dead several years ago, and following that she’d had an emergency operation that meant there’d be no more children for her, ever. While he’d half felt sorry for her when that was confirmed, the crafty cow had lied and destroyed all he had going with Dora for ever. Joe could hardly bear to look at Ivy now, never mind go near her. But he had no choice other than to grin and bear it for the next few years; he couldn’t possibly afford another divorce and to support yet another ex-wife.
33
JULY 1957
Dora smiled as Carol hurled a ball at the coconut shy. It hit the spot and a coconut fell from its perch onto the grass below. She leapt around like a mad thing as Jackie and Frank cheered and clapped their hands.
‘Well done, gel,’ Frank said, retrieving the coconut for her and handing it to Dora, who shoved it into an already laden shopping bag. ‘Do you want a go, little Jacks?’
Jackie shook her head and pointed to the donkey rides.
‘Okay, a quick ride then we’ll get your mam a cuppa; she looks like she needs it.’
They strolled across the grassed area to a line of tired-looking donkeys.
‘This lot look like they’ve retired from New Brighton beach,’ Frank joked as he lifted the girls up onto the saddles. He ran alongside them as they bounced along, laughing as they giggled.
Dora sat down on the grass, tucking her full skirt around her. She was wearing one of her own creations in the same polka dot fabric as her window display dresses; except hers was turquoise with white spots and she’d left off the net underskirt. A perfect colour for a glorious summer’s day with the white patent waspie belt cinching in her neat waist and matching her peep-toe shoes. She lay back, propped up on her elbows, and looked around to see if she could spot Agnes and her family. It felt warmer today than it had all week and she shaded her eyes as she looked over to the tea tent, where the queue seemed to be getting bigger. Woolton Church Fete, held annually in the grounds of St Peter’s Church, was proving more popular than ever this year according to the man on the coconut shy.
&n
bsp; There were several groups of young lads hanging around; all dressed smartly in their drainies and shirts, sleeves casually rolled up, quiffs immaculate, ciggies dangling from lips, eyeing up several groups of young girls, who were dressed to kill with their hair in the new-style ponytails swinging from side to side as they walked around the field, wiggling their backsides and swivelling narrow hips. Promenading, her dad had called it, when young people made eyes at each other. Fancying their chances, her brother called it. Whatever it was, Dora would give her right arm to be that age again and have Joe eyeing her up across a room like he’d done many times in the past.
The familiar lump rose in her throat and she swallowed it. He’d been annoyed that he couldn’t have the girls this afternoon as he’d wanted to bring them to the fete himself. But she and Frank had promised Mam that they would pop in with them later as Mam hadn’t seen her granddaughters for a few weeks and had complained last week that no one bothered to visit her any more. Which wasn’t true; she and Frank went every week. Sadly her memory was getting worse. Agnes had got her mam into the care home on a temporary basis while her hip healed and until she was mobile again. So the pair were company for each other.
Joe had agreed he’d just have the girls tomorrow, although he’d said Ivy would pull a face as he’d promised to take her over to Southport for the afternoon and she wanted them to go alone. Dora suggested he take the girls too and he’d looked embarrassed and told her Ivy wouldn’t like that. She sighed. It was bloody tough. She’d come into the family through her own choice and by doing so she needed to get used to the idea that Joe had kids and that was that. She looked up as someone called her name and Agnes strolled into view, holding Patsy’s hand. They were alone; Alan must be on shift. Agnes flopped down beside her and lifted Patsy onto her knee. She rooted in her bag and pulled out a hanky, wiping Patsy’s snotty nose and adjusting her sun hat.
‘Think she’s got a bit of hay fever,’ she said. ‘She’s streaming today. It’s because it’s so dry and dusty. Beautiful though, isn’t it. Oh look, Patsy, the band’s starting to play.’