by Joan Lingard
‘She won’t catch me.’
‘There’s a queue out there already.’
‘I thought there would be. Kids are daft about chips. The smell gets hold of you.’
‘Steve’s keeping them in order.’
Tommy went to and fro between the queue and the kitchen bringing in the orders. ‘Two with salt and vinegar, one without…’
‘I wouldn’t mind working in a chip shop,’ said Linda. ‘It’s good crack.’
‘You’d smell if you did it all the time,’ said Tommy.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t like that.’
More potatoes were peeled, more fat put into the pan. The chips went in pallid white, emerged golden brown. They ate a few themselves as they scooped them into bags.
When business was at its height. Tommy came rushing into the kitchen.
‘That ginger-haired fella from the next street’s trying to scare off our customers. He’s telling them we’re using rotten tatties. He says they’re the ones that are thrown on the dump.’
‘The cheek of him!’ Sadie flew out of the kitchen with Linda behind her.
Out on the pavement some of the smaller children were shuffling their feet. They were not looking at the ginger-haired boy, but they were listening to him.
‘They stink to high heaven. I had to hold me nose when I passed by.’ He held it now. ‘Your guts’ll rot if you eat them.’
‘What a pack of lies you’re telling!’ screamed Sadie. ‘They’re the best Ulster spuds money can buy.’ He retreated a few feet. She appealed to the children. ‘Some of you have had them already and not a bit of harm have they done you.’
‘They haven’t had time to work yet,’ said the trouble-maker. He clutched his stomach. ‘Later on you’ll be doubled up writhing in agony.’
‘You’ll be writhing in agony in one minute,’ said Steve.
He and Tommy advanced; the ginger-haired boy retreated; the children cheered.
‘Two against one isn’t fair,’ he said.
‘Nobody invited you round here in the first place,’ said Tommy.
‘So get on out of it,’ said Steve, ‘and nobody’ll touch a hair of your delicate head.’
‘We’ll soon see who’s delicate.’
But Ginger decided to go home. He might have taken on Steve and Tommy but the crowd of younger children could have given him a lot of trouble.
‘Business as usual!’ announced Sadie.
Some of the children still looked doubtful. They slapped their pennies from hand to hand, feet edging away in the direction of Mrs McConkey’s shop.
‘Now you know there’s nothing wrong with my chips,’ said Sadie.’ He was just saying that to frighten you off.’
‘What’s the smell?’ Tommy sniffed the air.
‘Burning,’ said Steve.
‘The chip pan,’ yelled Sadie. She had left it on the gas.
She dived inside the house. Flames were shooting up the kitchen walls as she opened the door.
‘Fire!’ she screamed.
‘Fire!’ The cry was taken up and echoed along the street. Doors and windows opened, heads popped out. Steve ran to the nearest phone, which was at the end of the street, and dialled 999.
Tommy dragged Sadie back from the kitchen. She was struggling to get to the sink. Her lungs were full of smoke and she was coughing and retching.
Linda was shrieking in the lobby, with her hands over her face.
‘Shut up, you silly ass,’ snapped Tommy, ‘and away ‘and get us some water!’ Linda fled.
Tommy pushed Sadie into the parlour. He took a bucket of water that someone passed in and threw it at the kitchen. The flames swayed slightly, a cloud of dirty smoke billowed out, and then the fire continued its relentless progress across the small room, crackling and spitting, consuming everything in its path. Tommy saw that it was hopeless. He shut the door.
‘Can’t you stop it?’ gasped Sadie.
‘We’ll have to get out. Fast!’
He pulled her into the street. The pavement was blocked with people. The chip sign lay on its side.
‘Here’s the fire engine!’ cried Linda.
The engine came wailing down the street with its blue light flashing. Within seconds it was followed by another.
‘Back!’ yelled the police constable. ‘Everybody back.’
They retreated to the opposite pavement to watch. The firemen leapt from the engine before it was still and began to unwind their hoses. They entered the Jacksons’ house.
‘I don’t see no flames,’ said Granny McEvoy.
‘There’s plenty inside,’ said Tommy.
Sadie groaned.
The fire was brought under control in a few minutes. It had been confined to the back of the house.
‘Just as well you shut the kitchen door, Tommy,’ said the constable. ‘You can come over now.’
Tommy took Sadie’s hand and they crossed the street. The kitchen was completely gutted. It looked as if it had been hit by a bomb and then a thunderstorm. Everything in it was a black soggy mess. Sadie sat down on the front doorstep and cried.
‘You should have turned the heat off and thrown a damp cloth over the flames,’ said a fireman. ‘Never touch the pan itself.’
‘Chip pans are dead dangerous,’ said the constable, shaking his head. ‘The trouble we get with them!’
‘Never mind, lass,’ said the fireman, patting Sadie’s sooty head. ‘It could have been worse.’
‘Not much,’ said Tommy.
‘What’ll ma say when she sees it?’ Sadie lifted wet eyes to look at Tommy.
‘You’ll soon find out. She’s coming now. I can see her red hat at the far end of the street.’
Chapter Eight
Mrs Jackson Gets a Fright
‘Say what you like,’ said Mrs Jackson some hours later, having said a great deal in the meantime, ‘but there’s no greater blessing than a good neighbour in times of trouble.’ She was sitting drinking tea in Linda’s mother’s kitchen.
‘Treat the house as your own and welcome,’ said Mrs Mullet.
Mrs Mullet had frizzy hair and wore high pointed shoes, the kind that had gone out of fashion years ago. Before the fire, Mrs Jackson had often been heard to observe that Mrs Mullet was not her type; after it, she was her best friend. Mr Mullet and Mr Jackson had gone to the pub; the children had been sent to bed. They had been glad to go.
‘A woman without a kitchen’s like a car without an engine,” sighed Mrs Jackson.
‘You’ll get a nice new one though, won’t you? The landlord’ll have to do it up now. He’ll get it on Insurance. I could do with mine tarted up a bit.’
‘Nothing can be done till after the “Twelfth”,’ said Mrs. Jackson gloomily. ‘All the tradesmen are on holiday.’
‘You’ll just have to content yourself and do your cooking here.’ Mrs Mullet sat down at the table. ‘I’d have killed our Linda if she’d done it to me.’
‘She was with Sadie. They were both frying chips.’
‘I’m sure now, Mrs Jackson, it’d be Sadie’s idea. She is rather a wild one, isn’t she? Oh, just natural of course,’ she added quickly for she could see that Mrs Jackson was bridling. But everybody in the street knew that Sadie Jackson was a holy terror. She and Mr Mullet had been discussing her only the night before and had congratulated themselves that their Linda was a nice polite girl. They had agreed that she kept company too much with Sadie Jackson. Mrs Mullet decided now to send Linda to stay with her aunt in Lurgan for the rest of the holidays. They were ambitious for Linda: they wanted her to grow up nicely and get a good job and move away from streets like these. She might marry a bank clerk or even a teacher… Who knows?
‘There now, Mrs Jackson, eat up. You must be starved. The body needs food after a shock like that.’
In their own house across the road, Sadie and Tommy lay in bed in the fading light. There was no electric light, even if they’d been in a mood to have it on, for the fire had fused the electrical system. The
y listened to the last of the children playing in the street, calling to one another.
Sadie shivered. She had felt cold since the fire was put out. When she closed her eyes she could still see the flames shooting up the kitchen wall. Her head reeled with the sound of her mother’s voice. ‘Can’t trust you for a second, Sadie Jackson. Give you an inch and you take a mile…’ It had all been said before, on other occasions. Sadie sighed. It had been a stroke of bad luck. But by tomorrow her mother would be more used to the idea, and with a bit of good fortune would spend most of the day over at the Mullets.
Sadie wondered what they were doing over on the other side…
The McCoys were having another party.
‘Sure and why not?’ said Kevin. ‘Freedom can’t last. Da’ll be back in a day or two.’
Kate’s father had made a good deal that day with a load of scrap iron and bought them a crate of coca-cola. Brian and Kevin bought chips between them and Brede baked a large soda scone on the griddle.
‘I like parties,’ said Brede. ‘As long as there’s not too many people.’
There were no more than a dozen, which packed out the kitchen anyway. The fiddler came back again, and the boy with the guitar. They sang ‘Jackets Green’, ‘A Nation Once Again’, and ‘Wrap the Green Flag Round Me’, as well as pop songs. Between songs, if they quietened and listened, they could hear the pipes and drums from across the way.
‘They need a terrible lot of practising,’ said Brian.
‘They just like the sound of it I’m thinking,’ said Brede.
Kevin was restless. Brede watched him as he conducted the singing and jumped up and down to open fresh bottles of coke. Sometimes he went out into the yard for a moment and stood looking up into the sky forgetting the crowd in the kitchen. He had spells of restlessness when he could scarcely sit still. These were dangerous times for then he craved excitement. These were the times when he got into trouble. Only minor trouble so far, but as their father said: one thing led to another.
Brede went out into the yard after him. ‘What’s up, Kevin?’ she asked quietly.
‘Nothing. Why should there be? I’m just enjoying the night air. It’s a fine night, a night to be out in.’
‘Don’t go out tonight, Kevin. Stay by the house. You promised da.’
He shrugged. He leapt back into the kitchen singing. But his eyes glinted.
The party broke up when it was dark. Everyone went home but Brian. Brede washed the dishes and he dried them for her.
‘Well, Brian, what have we on our schedule tonight?’ asked Kevin.
‘Whatever you like.’
‘Why should it be what he likes?’ said Brede sharply. ‘You don’t like trouble do you, Brian?’
‘I don’t mind it.’
‘Course he doesn’t.’ Kevin pulled on his jerkin and zipped it up. ‘He’s a man. C’mon and let her get on with the woman’s work.’
‘And don’t come crying to me in the morning,’ Brede called after them.
The boys ambled through the street, hands in pockets. They passed a policeman.
‘Going anywhere in particular?’
‘Just walking,’ answered Kevin. ‘It’s a nice night for a walk.’
‘Even better to be in your beds.’
They took a detour so that he did not see them cross into the Protestant quarter. By now they knew the way to the Jacksons’ house.
They passed knots of youths grouped about street corners but they walked on as if unconcerned. The boys eyed them wondering, but not knowing.
There was no one on the Jacksons’ corner.
Brian sniffed the air. ‘Funny smell. Something’s been burning.’
Kevin took a running jump at the end wall beside the gable of the house. His rubber-soled feet found holes easily. He squatted on top of the wall and looked down into the Jacksons’ backyard. He whispered to Brian: ‘There’s been a fire. Keep guard.’ He let himself down on the other side.
It was dark in the yard after the street. The window and door of the blackened kitchen stood open to the night air.
He stepped inside. His shoes squelched. He paused to listen. The house was dead quiet. Perhaps they had all been evacuated. He opened the kitchen door, feeling the charred wood beneath his fingers, and found himself in a narrow hall. A little light came from the street through the fan light of the front door.
‘You’ve a queer nerve,’ he could imagine Brede saying, and he grinned in the darkness.
At that moment the front door opened and a woman’s opaque figure stood framed in the opening.
‘Who’s there?’ she cried.
He let out a howl like a banshee, then moved quickly. He went out through the yard and over the wall to the sound of her screaming.
Chapter Nine
No Surrender
‘What a fright he gave me!’ declared Mrs Jackson. It was all she seemed capable of saying. She sat in the front parlour drinking brandy with her family gathered round her.
Sadie no longer shivered. The heat had returned to her body as soon as the commotion started downstairs. She felt impatient with her mother, wanting to know more. She wanted a description of the intruder who had sounded like a werewolf. She wanted her suspicions confirmed.
‘What was he like, ma?’
Mrs Jackson shook her head and eyed the brandy bottle. She was rather fond of a drop of brandy on odd occasions, and this was an odd enough occasion. They kept it in the house for medicinal purposes. Her husband splashed a little more into her glass.
‘That’ll settle your stomach.’
‘I could be doing with a coke myself,’ said Sadie. ‘My throat’s dry.’
‘There’s none. The kitchen’s burnt, have you forgot?’
‘You’re recovering, ma.’
‘None of your cheek now.’
Sadie flopped into an armchair. They could have been after the intruder, given half a chance, but by the time her mother had got over her hysterics he had been miles away. There had not been even a whisper of him in the street. They had looked in every direction. They had stood still and listened for the sound of running footsteps but heard nothing except the bleat of a ship’s siren from the Lough. Sadie had a good idea where she could lay hands on him.
‘We’ll need to inform the police,’ said Mr Jackson.
His wife nodded. ‘Indeed we will. We’re at the mercy of every Tom, Dick and Harry that takes it into his head to loup over our back wall. That was a sore day’s work you done, Sadie Jackson!’
‘We could board up the back,’ said Tommy.
‘That’ll be a job for you in the morning then, Tommy,’ said his father.
Tommy groaned. ‘We’re still doing the street These holidays have been nothing but work.’
‘You can go and get your clothes on now and take a walk down to the police station.’
‘I’ll go,’ Sadie offered, leaping to her feet.
‘You will not,’ said her mother. ‘I won’t have a girl of your age walking the streets at this time of the night. No, not even with Tommy. You can go to your bed.’
Sadie went upstairs, but not to bed. She hung out of the window and watched Tommy saunter up the street. Equality of the sexes! A load of old bosh. You had to fight to get what you wanted if you were a girl.
There was still a light on at the Mullets, though not at Linda’s window. She would be fast asleep. She would sleep all day if nobody wakened her. The curtain was lifted at one side of the lighted window. Mrs Mullet was watching Tommy go down the street. Sadie couldn’t stand Mrs Mullet. She was everything that Sadie didn’t want to be when she grew up.
When she heard footsteps, she leant out further and saw Tommy coming back with the policeman.
‘You’ll fall out of there and break your neck if you’re not careful,’ said the constable, looking up at her.
He and Tommy went into the house. They settled down in the parlour. The sound of voices rose and fell.
Sadie pulled on some clothes.
She was going out. The house was like a cage. She stuffed a few things into the bed to make it look occupied in case her mother should glance in at the door. Then she balanced on the window sill, knees bent, before she dropped down into the street. A slight stave to her ankle, nothing more. She rested it for a moment, then went on.
She reached the McCoys’ house after a few minutes jog-trotting. There was not a light at any window. After his excursion Kevin would have gone to bed to sleep soundly. She tried the front door: as she suspected, it was not locked.
The door opened without a creak. She went inside and closed it behind her.
The hall was similar to their own. She put out her hand and touched pictures on the wall. Holy pictures no doubt. From overhead came the sound of heavy breathing. Sleeping like angels. She grinned.
Three steps took her to the kitchen. She risked putting on the light. It would only shine on to the backyard. The kitchen was clean and tidy. Two tea towels hung over a rail. The red and cream clock ticked on the dresser.
She looked around thoughtfully. She had to let him know she had returned the visit. She saw a biro lying beside the clock. She picked it up and tried to write on the wall but the pen would not work in that position. It would have to be the table. It was wooden and well-scrubbed; it would do well enough.
She sat down and printed in large letters: KING BILLY WAS HERE. LONG LIVE KING BILLY. It would take a deal of scrubbing to get rid of that. Biro was the devil’s own, as her ma said. She went over the letters twice to let the ink penetrate the wood. Satisfied, she clicked off the biro and stood up.
Kevin stood in the doorway watching her. She had been so absorbed in her task that she had not even heard the door open.
‘Look who’s here!’ He shook his head. ‘You’re not going to get away with it this time.’
She surveyed the kitchen quickly. On the shelf by the draining board sat a red and cream tin marked FLOUR She seized it, tore off the lid and flung the contents at him. She saw him enveloped in white, arms waving wildly; heard him choke and splutter, before she pulled open the back door and fled.
The yard was surrounded by other backyards. This was not an end house with access over the side wall to the street like their own. She vaulted up on to the back wall that separated the two lines of houses which sat back-to-back. She crept along the wall, crouching low, like a cat.