Nobody’s Darling

by Nobody’s Darling (retail) (epub)

  It wasn’t too long before the polite knock came on the door and Ted Miller poked his face inside. He didn’t say anything, but his thoughts were troubled. It wasn’t a good sign when the manager summoned you to his office; and the fellow was smiling. That alone was disturbing.

  ‘Come in, Ted,’ the manager urged, sitting on the edge of his seat and trying not to seem too serious. When Ted came in and closed the door behind him, he pointed to the chair opposite. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said in a kindly voice.

  ‘No, thanks all the same.’ Ted sensed the other man’s nervousness and it conveyed itself to him. ‘I’ll be more comfortable when I know what’s on your mind. If it’s summat bad, then the sooner you spit it out, the better.’ This last week there had been rumours of a cutback in manpower. Ted prayed he wasn’t here for that particular reason.

  The manager looked at Ted. He took up a pen from the desk and began chewing on it, then he got out of the chair and walked round the desk. His face was grim, ‘I’m sorry, Ted.’ He shook his head slowly and dropped his gaze to his feet.

  Ted’s heart sank but he found himself smiling, because if he didn’t smile he might show his deeper emotions. ‘So, the rumours were true?’ he asked, and his voice shook. The other man looked up. His expression was answer enough. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Not just you, Ted. You’re only the first.’

  ‘I’ve not been singled out then?’ He needed to know that. He wanted reassurance that he wasn’t being finished because he was too old, or too clumsy, or not pulling his weight.

  ‘You’re a good worker, Ted. Like I say… there’ll be others soon enough. It’s a higher decision to cut the workforce.’ He wasn’t lying, but neither was he telling the whole truth. He had long been envious of Ted Miller’s standing with the men, and an incident when Ted had undoubtedly saved a man’s life had been more than he could stomach. There wasn’t a man here who didn’t believe Ted should have been promoted long ago, and there was a deal of bitterness when it failed to happen although Ted himself was content enough. The truth was, Ted Miller was one of the best men in the foundry; a reliable, conscientious man who knew this work better than any of them. The manager was a jealous insecure soul who saw Ted as his enemy, so, when the moment came, he availed himself of the opportunity to be rid of him once and for all. It wasn’t hard to convince them who mattered that Ted spelt trouble. It was easy. Too easy. But then there were other things at stake here.

  Even as the truth of the matter was running through the devious manager’s mind, Ted was voicing his own suspicions. ‘I hope you’re being square with me, matey,’ he said. ‘Me being finished here – it wouldn’t have anything to do with that business a while back, would it?’ Anger rose in him. ‘If I thought the bastards were putting me out for that, I swear to God I’d fight ’em tooth and nail.’ He breathed in hard and held his head high. Presently he said in a gruff voice, ‘They were in the wrong and the buggers know it. You know that upper platform wants shoring up. All the men know it! Jacob Darnley could have gone the same way as them two poor sods a while back if I hadn’t been there to grab his shirt-tail.’

  ‘I know what you’re saying, Ted.’ The manager felt they were skating on dangerous ground here. Ted was right. When that platform swayed, his colleague could so easily have gone to a fiery grave. From his vantage point, the manager had seen the whole thing. Afterwards, he saw how Ted Miller was held in respect by the men, saw how they looked up to him, how they hung on his every word, and his jealousy was like a canker eating away at him. When Ted made a formal complaint with regard to the condition of the platforms, the foreman duly relayed it to a higher authority. He also pointed out in graphic terms how such a man as Ted was a potential trouble-maker who should be watched very carefully. All this was reported to Oliver Arnold and the inevitable order was given; that Ted Miller must be discreetly removed at the first opportunity. The same applied to other men, real mischief-makers, and so the rumours were deliberately started soon after, implying that lower demand and higher competition might soon force a cut in manpower.

  ‘Look, Ted. As far as I know, the owner took kindly to your suggestions regarding the rickety platform. I’m assured they’ve got all safety matters under review. This business of cutting the workforce – well, that’s a different matter altogether. Like I say, you won’t be the only one to go.’ He sighed and looked suitably sorry for himself. ‘Who knows… I might be next in line!’

  ‘It’s a lousy business all the same,’ Ted replied in a serious voice. ‘What’s to be done about it?’

  ‘Nothing. I only wish to God there was. Confidentially, Ted, orders have been dropping off for some time,’ the manager lied. ‘There’s still plenty of work in the mills though. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting fixed up there.’

  When Ted gave no answer but stared stonily ahead, he went to his desk and took out a long brown envelope from the top drawer.

  I really am sorry,’ he said lamely, handing the envelope over. Best take this and be on your way, eh?’ For one brief moment he hated himself, but then he remembered how it would only have been a matter of time before Ted was noticed as supervisor material by the management, happen even by Arnold himself. He had his own position to think of, and if Ted was put up for promotion, it wouldn’t be too long then before he was looking to the foreman’s job. And then who knows what he might find out? No, he couldn’t take no chances. Besides, he told himself, Ted would find work. He wasn’t a man to be out of work for long. All the same, he felt a burning shame at what he’d done. Ted Miller was no trouble-maker. He was a decent man, justifiably concerned about the well-being of his fellow-workers. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said again. The hair stood up on the back of his neck when he recalled what Ted had said just now. ‘I swear to God I’d fight the buggers tooth and nail!’ Aye, and happen he’d break the manager’s jaw an’ all, if he was to learn that the cowardly fellow was lying about the reason for Ted being finished here at the foundry.

  ‘Away home to your missus, Ted,’ the manager urged now. ‘You’ll need to break the news to her, won’t you, eh?’ Lizzie Miller was a stout woman in more ways than one, and both men knew that she would be a source of strength in any crisis.

  Without another word, Ted walked away, the envelope clutched tightly in his closed fist. The manager watched him go along the gangway and down the steps that would lead him to the outer doors. In all the years he’d known Ted Miller, he had never seen his narrow shoulders so bowed, nor his step so heavy. ‘I pray to God you’ll never find out what I’ve done this day,’ he murmured fearfully, shaking his head and returning to his duties. Even now, he wondered at his own despicable action in bringing Ted to the notice of Oliver Arnold, a strong character who had built an empire from the smaller legacy left by his father. It was never wise to cross such a man, and with this in mind the manager bent his head to the communication he had received some days ago. With a heavy heart, he took up his pen and carefully ringed round the names of four other men. Unlike Ted Miller, each of these men was known to have made trouble in one way or another.

  * * *

  Normally, Ted would have made straight for home after alighting from the tram at Whalley Old Road. In spite of being bone weary, he would have quickly covered the few hundred yards to the little house on Fisher Street, with thoughts of Lizzie and the young ’uns filling his heart and lending wings to his feet. Tonight, though, there were other, more pressing things on his mind. He was a sorry soul, a man lost, one without work or sense of direction. He had never been an ambitious man, never greedy or proud. His two interests had been his family and his work. Now the work was gone and with it his ability to support Lizzie and the young ’uns. The foreman had said there was plenty of work to be had, but he was lying, Ted knew. He was no fool. For every vacancy that came up, there were always any number of men waiting to fill it.

  ‘How do, Ted?’ Len Taylor’s familiar voice sailed across the road, bringing Ted out of his deep reveri
e. ‘A bit off the beaten track, ain’t yer, matey?’ He laughed, a loud raucous sound that grated on the ear. ‘Fisher Street’s that way, yer silly ol’ bugger,’ he said jovially, pointing in the opposite direction. ‘Your Lizzie thrown yer out, has she?’ he laughed again, and Ted turned away with a wry little smile. The cabbie shrugged his shoulders and climbed up into his carriage. As a rule, Ted Miller would have stopped and chatted. Not today though. Today, he seemed a million miles away.

  Coming out of Lodge Street, Ted stopped to lean against the lamp on the corner. ‘What do we do now, eh?’ he asked, looking up to Heaven as though for guidance. When none was forthcoming, he took his pipe from the pocket of his jacket and a wad of baccy from his waistcoat. The very act of packing the baccy into the wooden bowl was soothing to him, but he didn’t reach for the matches to light it. Instead, his attention was caught by the huge sprawling building before him. Like a man entranced, he gazed at it.

  Brookhouse Mills made a daunting and magnificent sight. Like a monstrous stone cake, its grime-covered tiles were the chocolate icing and the long cylindrical chimneys were gigantic candles. The out-pouring smoke snaked through the sky, making weird dark patterns against the bright sunlight which in their very ugliness appeared uniquely beautiful. Through the many long narrow windows he could see the upward-reaching iron struts and heavy machinery, could hear the awesome noise from within where the men, women and children scurried about like insignificant ants flitting in and out of the looms, all intent on one thing: survival. They might have their dreams, in their heart of hearts they might aspire to greater things, but they knew their limitations and so for now, it was enough for them to survive. ‘That’s all any of us want,’ Ted murmured, ‘just to survive.’

  The image of his eldest child came into his mind and his face broke into a grin. Ruby was unlike any of his other children, a little woman who wanted to take on the world. Merely ‘surviving’ would never be enough for her, he thought proudly. And he couldn’t understand why that bothered Lizzie so much. ‘Wanting more is always a road to heartache,’ she claimed, but to tell the truth, he’d wanted more all his life. It hadn’t broken his heart, yet it hadn’t brought him a fortune either, he admitted wistfully.

  He looked again at the building across the road, then stared up at the calm evening sky. June was always a lovely month. In that moment Ted felt oddly at peace with himself; beneath that blue uncluttered sky, the fumes and hellfire of the foundry seemed a million miles away. Happen his sacking was a blessing in disguise, he told himself. And there was hope. There was always hope. ‘The Lord helps them as helps themselves, ain’t that right?’ he whispered, his eyes upturned to the sky as though they might suddenly see something else there, someone else, gazing back at him. Suddenly he felt ashamed. What was he doing, standing on a street corner, feeling sorry for himself? Shaking his head, he muttered, ‘Get yerself off home to your family, Ted Miller. Arnold’s Foundry ain’t the only place of work round these parts. You mustn’t let the buggers beat you. You ain’t finished while you’ve got two arms and a strong back, and never forget that!

  He thought of Lizzie and his face lit up. He could see her now, cursing him up hill and down dale for not being home on time. But then another thought suddenly occurred to him and his back stiffened against the lamp post. ‘Bugger it!’ Lizzie was bound to think the worst when he didn’t come home as usual. In his dilemma, he hadn’t given that a thought, but now he was frantic. Thrusting his pipe and baccy into the pocket of his jacket, he went on his way home with renewed vigour, half walking, half running, his mind assailed by all manner of things: his work at the foundry, Brookhouse Mills and all the other mills around here that were going full strength. The foreman was right. There was other work to be had. He couldn’t do anything about it at this time of night, but first thing in the morning he’d be out there looking for work, and today would be just a bad memory.

  Ted Miller’s heart was a good deal lighter as he hurried down Lodge Street, along Whalley New Road and into Fisher Street, wending his way between roaming dogs, boisterous children rolling hoops along the cobbles, and grown-ups standing in little groups, where they busily swapped tittle-tattle and set the world to rights. He had been so steeped in his own troubles, he hadn’t noticed them before. Now, though, they exchanged greetings as he hurried on his way.

  * * *

  It was gone seven o’clock. Lizzie was beside herself with worry. ‘Where in God’s name is he?’ she asked, looking at Ruby with frantic eyes. ‘He ain’t never been late in all the years we’ve been wed.’ She wrung her fat little hands and sighed noisily. ‘Oh, our Ruby, summat’s happened to yer dad, I just know it has.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t.’ Ruby told her firmly. ‘Happen they’ve asked him to do some overtime and he couldn’t let you know,’ she suggested. ‘Or the tram was late. It’ll be something like that, you’ll see, so don’t go getting yourself worked up all over nothing, our mam.’ She didn’t tell Lizzie how she too was worried to the pit of her stomach. Every night since as long as she could remember, her dad always walked through the door on the stroke of six. He should have been home a good hour since, and still there was no sign of him. ‘I’ll take another look down the street,’ she said, going quickly out of the parlour and down the passage. Her heart was in her mouth as she opened the front door and peered out.

  In the parlour, Lizzie paced anxiously up and down in front of the fire. ‘I just know there’s trouble,’ she mumbled. ‘I can feel it in me bones.’

  Our dad’s not run away, has he?’ The small tearful voice caused her to stop and stare at the group of children seated round the table, everyone washed and scrubbed and waiting for their dinner. It was Dolly who had spoken, and she looked at Lizzie now with frightened hazel eyes, her chubby little face pale and worried and her hands clenched tight together on the table.

  ‘Aw, bless yer heart, darlin’.’ Realising how she was frightening the young ’uns, Lizzie painted a smile on her face and went across the room to the table where she stood behind Dolly’s chair. Reaching down, she lovingly wrapped her two arms about the girl’s neck, saying in a voice that belied her fears, ‘Course yer dad ain’t run away.’

  Where is he then?’ This time it was Lenny who asked the question; a tall skinny lad not yet eleven, with sandy hair and eyes the same colour, he appeared sulky. ‘I’m starving hungry,’ he moaned. ‘Why can’t we have our dinner now?’

  When Ruby had called the children in for dinner, she’d found Lenny rolling about the cobbles with a lad from Viaduct Street. The two of them had been itching for a fight for some days now. Although the lad was four years older and nearly twice his size, Lenny was getting the better of him until Ruby angrily pulled the two of them apart. Now, he would have to do it all over again, he thought angrily. What was worse, Ruby had called them in for nothing, because they couldn’t have their dinner on account of their dad being late home. Lenny wasn’t concerned about his dad being late, because he believed his dad had gone off for a jar of ale or a game of dominoes with a mate. Or, at least, that was what he would do if he was a man, especially on Friday night, and especially if he’d just been let out of Arnold’s foundry. The thought of working in a foundry, in all the heat and the fumes horrified Lenny.

  ‘What! Start without yer dad at the head of the table?’ Lizzie was mortified at the suggestion. ‘Whatever are yer thinking of, Lenny? Since when has this family sat down to a meal without yer dad here to say grace?’ The look she gave him was withering. ‘I don’t want to hear yer talk like that agin, d’yer hear?’ Her hazel eyes were hard and angry as she waited for an answer.

  ‘Yes, Mam.’ Biting his bottom lip, Lenny turned bright pink. He felt embarrassed in front of the other children, and was greatly agitated. Beneath the table he crunched his fists together and imagined he was strangling that lad from Viaduct Street.

  A strange silence settled over them all. Lizzie sat hunched in the rocking chair beside the empty fire, frantically pitching the
chair back and forth on its runners, her eyes downcast and her heart troubled. The children quietly fidgeted in the hard stand-chairs set round the big square table. The boys entertained themselves by pulling faces at each other; Dolly busied herself by discreetly playing with the tassels on Lizzie’s best green cord tablecloth, and above the ominous silence the ticking of the mantelpiece clock echoed the beat of every heart.

  Once or twice Lizzie raised her eyes, to peep into the makeshift cradle where the youngest of the Miller family was peacefully sleeping after its fill of milk. She surreptitiously ran her gaze over the children; all out of her and by the same father, and she never ceased to be amazed how each one of them could be so different in character. The starkest contrast was between the twins. Eight years old, Frank and Ralph were of the same colouring and build, freckly, fair and sturdy. Yet where Frank was a happy amiable lad, Ralph was surly in nature, greedy and spiteful; only recently Lizzie had confined him to the house for a week after he deliberately squashed Frank’s pet frog between two bricks. The only other lad in the family was Lenny, and he was different again; a handsome young man in the making with his tall lean figure and shock of sandy-coloured hair, he seemed to be always angry and quick to lash out with his fists. ‘He has the temperament of a boxer,’ Ted would say with a twinkle in his eye but, like any mother might, Lizzie feared his temper could well land him in trouble one day.

  She and her man had been blessed with three lads and three lasses. Ruby was the first-born, and although all the children were dearly loved, Ruby had a special place in her mam and dad’s heart; fiery, strong in character, and fiercely protective. Lenny was the next, then came the twins. A year after that, Lizzie and Ted lost a newly-born girl-child to the whooping cough, before they were blessed with another healthy lass. Dolly was never a beauty like Ruby, because where Ruby was perfectly proportioned, her sister was round as a dumpling, with small hazel eyes much like Lizzie’s, and the same unruly light brown hair. She was a delightful child, though, loving and warm, and right from the start there had been something very precious between her and Ruby. Last of all came Lottie, a pretty infant with carrot-coloured hair and vivid green eyes. She was unlike any of Lizzie’s brood in that she was unusually quiet, sad even. After being fed and washed, she would lie in her cradle for hours, watching what was going on; she hardly ever smiled, and in spite of Ruby’s constant efforts, had never been heard to laugh out loud. ‘There’s nothing wrong in being of a serious nature,’ Ted was quick to point out. ‘She’s got two arms and two legs and they all move, she’s got a loud enough voice when she wants her titty, and them pretty green eyes don’t miss a single thing.’ He had a way of stating the obvious. Lottie was different, that was all, and she was no less loved because she didn’t laugh and gurgle every time one of the children played the clown for her.