MB05 - After the Dance is Over

by Joan Jonker

  ‘Oh, we get the odd moaner who wouldn’t be satisfied if yer put a roast dinner in front of them. But all in all they’re a good crowd.’ The woman noticed Nellie’s empty plate and picked it up. It was as clean as it was before she’d put the scone on it. Not one crumb was left. ‘I’ll take these plates out of yer way and leave yer to finish the pot of tea.’

  Molly watched her walk away. ‘She’s a nice woman, just right for a place like this. And from the look of your plate, sunshine, she makes good scones.’

  ‘My tummy is feeling very pleased with itself, girl, I don’t think we’ll hear a peep out of it for a few hours.’

  After draining her cup, Molly took out her purse. ‘I’ll pay at the counter and yer can square up with me later.’

  Nellie, her tummy full and her heart overflowing with goodwill, raised a hand. ‘This treat is on me, girl, I’ll go to the counter.’

  Molly looked flabbergasted. This was something that never happened. It was always she who paid, with promises from Nellie to settle up later. Which, half the time, she never did. It was like trying to get blood out of a stone. ‘Are yer feeling all right, sunshine?’

  Nellie wasn’t easily hurt and she saw the joke. So did her chins which swayed sideways, and her tummy which went up and down. ‘I know it’s a surprise, but don’t yer go and have a heart attack on me, girl, or I’ll be sick and it’ll all have been a waste of money.’

  Molly watched her friend waddle over to the counter, her hips brushing every chair she passed. And she heard the woman laugh and glance her way when Nellie said, ‘If yer think me mate looks a bit white around the gills, it’s because I’ve just given her the shock of her life by offering to pay.’

  The woman, whose name was Nora, called over to Molly, ‘There’s a first time for everything, queen, so if I were you I’d make the most of it.’

  ‘I’ll do more than that, sunshine, I’ll put the flags out when I get home. But only when I’m sure she won’t come knocking on my door in the middle of the night asking for the money I owe her. She’s feeling good-hearted at the moment, but the thing is, how long will that last?’

  Nellie pretended to look hurt. ‘That’s a terrible way to talk about a mate, I’m cut to the quick, I really am. I would never come knocking at yer door in the middle of the night and I don’t know how yer can say such a thing.’ Then her shoulders began to heave. ‘I’d leave it until at least ten in the morning so yer’d be wide enough awake to look for yer purse.’

  Molly got to her feet and winked at Nora. ‘And don’t think she wouldn’t sunshine, ’cos I wouldn’t put anything past her. And now, if yer’ll take her money, we’ll be on our way. We’ve got an important message to go on.’

  After following the pub landlord’s directions, and only stopping one person to make sure they were on the right track, Molly and Nellie found themselves standing in Knowsley Road opposite the Gainsborough picture house. ‘That didn’t take long, did it?’ Molly asked as she stepped to the kerb. ‘We’ve hopped in lucky so far, let’s hope it keeps up.’ She watched the cars and buses go past, then held out her arm. ‘Stick yer leg in, sunshine, and when the road’s clear we’ll make a run for it.’

  Safely on the opposite side, Nellie nodded to the picture house. ‘I don’t remember ever going there, girl, unless it was donkey’s years ago.’

  ‘Well, perhaps yer’ve never been, sunshine! I went a couple of times with Jack when the kids were little. It was before Ruthie was born so yer know how long ago it was. We could take the children to first house because they were comedy films and children were allowed.’

  ‘Ye’re a dark horse, Molly Bennett, yer never said a word to me.’

  Molly chuckled. ‘It was before we became joined at the hip, sunshine. We were friends but not bosom pals. We didn’t tell each other what we had to eat or where we’d been.’ She saw a couple of women talking, baskets over their arms, and said, ‘I think I’ll ask those women for directions, it would save us time.’

  ‘Good idea, girl, my feet are not that keen on walking too far.’

  The women stopped talking when Molly approached them. ‘I’m sorry to bother yer, but could yer tell us if we’re on the right way to the streets what are named after poets?’

  One of the women transferred her basket to her other arm. ‘Yer won’t find them down here, love, but ye’re not far away. If yer go down one of the streets opposite yer’ll come to them.’ She pointed a finger. ‘Walk down Percy Street, and when yer get to the bottom yer’ll be facing the streets ye’re looking for. Five minutes walk, that’s all.’

  Molly thanked her, then took Nellie’s arm. ‘Back over the road, sunshine, so keep hold of me. I’m glad we asked, we could have been walking all afternoon and not found what we’re after.’

  ‘Yeah, if we’d walked far enough we’d have ended up in the Mersey.’

  Five minutes later they reached the end of Percy Street and were reading the road signs on the wall of the street opposite. ‘Have yer ever heard of a poet called Spenser, Nellie?’

  ‘Fancy asking me that, girl, yer know I’m as thick as two short planks.’

  ‘Let’s walk to the next one, then.’ But the friends were none the wiser when they came to Shelley Street. ‘I’ve never heard of him, either! God, we must be ignorant.’

  But Molly’s faith in herself was restored when they came to Tennyson Street. ‘Now we’ve both heard of him.’ She stepped into the road to see the sign on the following street and a smile came to her face. ‘Wordsworth Street, sunshine, we’re definitely on the right track.’

  ‘Ay, girl, I might be ignorant when it comes to poets, but I’m not that daft I don’t know we’ve walked in a ruddy square! I bet if we walked down one of these streets we’d be back in Marsh Lane. That feller in the pub sent us miles out of our way.’

  ‘Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and say he got mixed up. I just hope his hunch turns out to be better than his directions.’

  ‘And where do we go from here? Do we have to start knocking on doors?’

  ‘I can see a little shop on the corner of the next street, I suggest we ask in there before we knock on doors. If it’s anything like Maisie’s shop, they’ll know everyone who lives in these streets. Unless yer have other ideas, sunshine?’

  ‘Not me, girl! You’re the senior detective, I just follow orders.’

  The smell in the shop reminded them of Maisie’s. Mixed with the sweetness of fresh bread were the stronger odours of paraffin and firelighters. This was a shop that sold everything under the sun, from coal to babies’ dummies. There were only two customers, and they were being served by a middle-aged woman who, from the friendly conversation, knew her clientele and their families well. Could she be just the one to help them?

  After the shopkeeper had filled the customers’ baskets and given them their change, she said, ‘I’ll see yer tomorrow, ladies, ta-ra for now.’ Then she turned to the two friends. ‘What can I do for yer?’

  Molly felt a bit guilty about not having any intention of buying anything, and hoped the woman would understand. ‘I was wondering if yer could help us? Me and me mate are trying to get in touch with a family who, we’ve been told, may live around here. We’ve got some news for them and it’s important we make contact. We thought you may be able to help as yer probably know most people in these parts.’

  ‘I’ll help if I can, love, what’s the family’s name?’

  ‘Mitchell. They used to live in Bullen’s Terrace, many years ago, and the father’s name was Bob. But we know he died before the family moved to one of these streets.’

  ‘There’s a few Mitchells live around here, but from what yer’ve said, I think it’s Maggie Mitchell ye’re looking for. I know her husband was called Bob, and that he died just before they moved into Wordsworth Street. Yer could try her first, that would be yer best bet.’

  ‘D’yer know the number?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I don’t know the exact number of the house,
but it’s about halfway up on the right-hand side. Anyone up there will tell yer.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Molly said, ‘yer’ve been very helpful. We wouldn’t have known where to start.’

  ‘Well, that’s my good deed for the day. If it is Maggie ye’re after she’ll be glad to see yer. A proper nice woman she is.’ The shopkeeper was curious but didn’t like to pry. ‘Yer should catch her in at this time.’

  Nellie hadn’t opened her mouth since they came in the shop, and so the shopkeeper wouldn’t think she wasn’t quite right in the head, she spoke the words she knew Molly would if given the chance, ‘Thank you, we’re beholden to yer.’ With that she put her hand on her friend’s back and pushed her towards the doorway. Once outside, she said, ‘I don’t mind yer being chief cook and bottle washer most of the time, girl, but it’s beginning to get boring. So from now on, instead of standing like a stuffed dummy, I’d like to be brought into the conversation now and again, if yer don’t mind.’

  ‘Well, I like that!’ Molly’s eyebrows nearly touched her hairline. ‘I doubt if I spoke more than about sixty words in there, and yer could have joined in any time yer wanted, no one was stopping yer. And in the café yer were too busy filling yer face to be interested in saying anything of interest.’

  ‘Don’t be getting on yer high horse, girl, ’cos yer’ll fall off one of these days. I just pass a comment, as yer would, and before I know it I’m getting told off and insulted. I think yer got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.’

  ‘No, sunshine, I think it’s you what’s losing yer sense of humour. I was going to say be my guest if yer want to do the talking, but I’ve just had second thoughts. Come on, and I’ll tell yer why while we’re walking.’ Arm in arm they crossed the cobbled street and stood at the bottom of Wordsworth Street. ‘If this Mrs Mitchell is Phil’s grandmother, we’re going to have to be very careful what we say. For all we know, she might not have known the girl her son was going to marry was pregnant.’

  ‘D’yer mean Fanny Bradley, girl?’

  Molly nodded. ‘She married Tom Bradley very quickly so people would think the baby was his, then they left the area. In that case, this is going to be a big shock to a woman who must be getting on in years. She might not believe us and send us packing. After all, it’s over twenty-two years since her son was killed, and us talking about it is going to bring back all the heartache.’

  ‘She might be upset, that would only be natural, but I think in the end she’ll thank us for it. But because you can talk better than me, and because I might put me foot in it, I won’t open me mouth unless yer ask me to.’

  ‘Right, let’s get going before I talk meself out of it. The woman said halfway up on the right-hand side, so we’ll start there.’

  They didn’t count the houses, but when they seemed to be halfway, Molly came to a halt. ‘I’m shaking like a leaf, sunshine, and I feel like turning tail and running like hell. But I know I’d regret it for the rest of me life so I’m going to knock on this door.’

  A woman about the same age as Molly answered the door. She was pleasantly plump with a round happy face. She eyed the two women, then smiled. ‘Can I help yer?’

  ‘We’re looking for a Mrs Mitchell, Maggie Mitchell.’

  The woman jerked her head. ‘Next door, love. And I know she’s in ’cos I’ve just come back from the shops with her.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Molly felt like hugging the woman but contented herself with giving a wide smile. ‘We’ll give her a knock. Ta-ra.’

  After knocking on the next door, Molly noted the spotlessly clean windows and net curtains, the highly polished window sill and white step. Then the door opened and Molly felt tongue-tied. Her mouth as dry as sandpaper, she couldn’t get her jaw to work. It was Nellie who asked, ‘Mrs Mitchell?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me. What d’yer want?’

  It was Nellie’s sharp dig in the ribs that brought Molly’s brain to life. ‘You don’t know us, Mrs Mitchell, but we know something that might interest yer and would be grateful if yer’d spare us a few minutes of yer time?’

  Maggie Mitchell was in her late-sixties but the two tragedies in her life had aged her. Snow white hair sat above a face that was heavily lined, and pale blue eyes told of a weariness she couldn’t escape from, even in sleep. ‘If ye’re selling something, or collecting for the church, I’m afraid I don’t have the time or the money to talk to yer. So I’ll bid yer goodbye.’

  The door was half closed when Molly stuck her foot out. ‘Mrs Mitchell, we know yer had a son called Bob who was killed in an accident a few weeks before he was to be married. What we have to tell yer is in connection with that.’

  Now the door was fully open, but there was suspicion in the tired eyes. ‘That was a long time ago and I cried all my tears then. I don’t think yer can tell me anything I don’t know.’

  ‘I think we can, Mrs Mitchell, and I think it’s something that will make yer happy. Just give us a few minutes of yer time, and if ye’re not interested, we’ll leave.’

  ‘Come in, then.’

  The tiny hallway led into a room that was neat and tidy, with furniture and hearth shining. ‘Yer keep yer house nice, Mrs Mitchell,’ Molly said, ‘it’s a credit to yer.’

  The curt nod told them she wanted to hear what they’d got to say and would they get it over with quickly? ‘Sit down please.’ Mrs Mitchell crossed the room to her rocking chair and began to rock slowly. ‘Now say what yer have to.’

  Molly licked her lips. Where was she going to find words that wouldn’t upset this woman? Then she felt a hand on her arm and Nellie said, ‘Go on, girl, get it over with.’

  After taking a deep breath, Molly said, ‘I know this is going to be painful for yer, Mrs Mitchell, but I’m hoping there’ll be a light at the end of a dark tunnel for yer.’

  The chair stopped rocking and the woman leaned forward. ‘Ye’re not fortune tellers, are yer? If yer are, yer can get out of my house quick, for I’ll have none of that.’

  ‘Good heavens, we’re not fortune tellers! Like yerself I can’t abide them. No, I’ll start at the beginning and tell yer what we know.’ After taking another deep breath, Molly continued. ‘When yer son Bob was killed he was a few weeks off getting married to a girl called Frances, wasn’t he? A girl he’d been courting for a few years?’

  ‘That girl’s name is never mentioned in our family. Not after what she did. My son thought the world of her, but she couldn’t have thought much of him ’cos a month after the funeral she married someone else. We haven’t seen sight nor life of her since. Not that we’d want to after what she did.’

  ‘Yer didn’t know that when yer son died, she was pregnant?’

  ‘What! Yer mean she’d been carrying on with someone behind his back?’ There was a short pause then Mrs Mitchell said, ‘No, she couldn’t have, they saw each other every night, she was never away from our house.’

  ‘She was pregnant with yer son’s child, Mrs Mitchell, that’s why she got married so quick to the first man who asked her.’

  ‘I don’t believe yer! And if yer’ve come here thinking I’ll fall for that, then yer must be crazy, the pair of yer. And I’ll ask yer to leave my house now, please.’

  ‘Don’t yer want to know about yer grandson?’ Molly asked quietly. ‘From the picture he’s got of his dad, he’s the spitting image of him. His name’s Phil, and he’s married to my daughter. He doesn’t know Nellie and I are here, we’re doing this off our own bat because he deserves some happiness in his life. And he and my daughter are expecting a baby in a few months so it would be wonderful if he had a member of his family at the christening.’

  Maggie Mitchell sat back in her chair, feeling as though all the breath had left her body. There was no doubt in her mind that Molly was telling the truth. The woman had an open, honest face and the emotion in her voice was real. ‘I need a drink,’ Maggie gasped.

  Nellie sprang from her seat. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, girl, you stay where yer are. I’l
l find the tea caddy and things so don’t be worrying. You just listen to what me mate’s got to say, and yer can believe every word out of her mouth.’

  ‘What about the man Frances married, aren’t they his family now?’

  ‘She married a man called Tom Bradley, the biggest rotter yer could ever meet. She had three children to him, one boy and two girls. They were the lowest of the low and tried to get Phil into their way of life, which was stealing everything they could get their hands on. Even his mother didn’t stick up for him, she tried to get him to go out stealing with his stepfather and stepbrother. Phil hated them, and their way of life, and was so ashamed but he had nowhere to go and was forced to live with them. All this was before we knew him.’ Molly then went on to tell how the Bradleys came to live in their street and how they broke into their neighbours’ houses and stole from them. How Doreen had met Phil at a dance and had fallen head over heels for him. And how devastated she was when she found out he was a Bradley.

  Nellie came in with a cup of steaming tea. ‘Here yer are, girl, get that down yer and yer’ll feel better.’ She gave a cheeky grin. ‘My mate was that nervous she forgot her manners. She’s Molly Bennett and I’m Nellie McDonough.’

  ‘Ye’re not letting me drink on me own, are yer?’

  ‘Not likely! I’ve poured two cups out for me and me mate.’

  ‘There’s some biscuits in a tin in the larder.’

  Nellie’s smile was from ear to ear. ‘Ye’re a woman after me own heart.’

  ‘Help yerself.’ Then Maggie’s eyes went back to Molly. ‘I can’t take it in that I have a grandson. I want to know everything so I can tell the rest of the family tonight. It’ll be as big a shock to them as it has been for me. But the nicest shock I’ve had in twenty years.’

  ‘Well, things came to a head when Phil was coming home from work one night. He always used the entries, never the front door because he was so ashamed of the family and the dirty state of the house. Anyway, he was walking up the entry when he saw his stepbrother, Brian, climbing over an old lady’s yard wall intending to break in. He pulled the lad back and a fight broke out between the two of them. The neighbours heard and came out – that’s when Doreen found out Phil was a Bradley. It broke her heart and she would have nothing to do with him for a long time after that. Anyway, Brian had been given a good hiding by Phil, and the old lady whose house was going to be burgled said Phil shouldn’t go home because Tom Bradley would kill him. Against the advice of all the neighbours, she invited him to stay there the night, and that’s been his home ever since, except when he was in the army. Her name is Miss Victoria Clegg, and they idolise each other. She was the only person who had ever shown him love, and he was the son she’d never had. When our Doreen and Phil got married in July, they made their home with her.’