A Liverpool Lass (22 page)

‘Yes. It’ll be better for all of ’em, chuck,’ Aunt Ada said. ‘Our Charlie saved that feller’s life, no doubt about it, an’ now he’ll reap his reward, an’ Bessie and the littl’uns too. So that’s all to the good.’

But Lilac thought that pleased though Aunt Ada must be, she was a little sad as well, and was ashamed of her own feelings.

That evening, when they had eaten their meal and put the children to bed, when the three females were sitting round the dining table going over, once more, what Charlie had said, Lilac thought she knew why Aunt Ada seemed quieter than usual.

Charlie had always been her favourite and when he and Bessie went, Aunt Ada would miss him. And it was not only him, of course. Hal and Bertie, Fred and Matt, had all left home now. Even Aunt Ada’s own girls were gone, for Lou was abroad and Jessie married and living away. Nellie was in France, Uncle Billy was dead ... it’ll only be Auntie and me, Lilac realised, and despite herself, her heart sank.

What price freedom now, then? Once Bessie and the kids had gone, Aunt Ada would need Lilac more than ever.

Aren’t I ever going to get me leg loose? Lilac thought sadly as she made her way up to the room she shared with Bessie and the kids. And I thought it was tough having to take the kids out with me when I’d rather have gone alone ... that’ll be nothing like as bad as having to take Aunt Ada everywhere!

‘Lilac? Are you comin’ out? We’re goin’ to the canal.’

Art’s voice, echoing round the court, brought Lilac’s head popping round the front door. She looked uncertainly back over her shoulder, then resignedly shook her head.

‘Better not; Auntie isn’t too brave.’

‘What’s the marrer with ’er?’ Art said, but he lowered his voice. ‘She ain’t sozzled, is she?’

Not being too brave was sometimes a euphemism for drunkenness and Lilac scowled at him. Drinking was something of which to be ashamed, and Aunt Ada had always been loud in her condemnation of those who took too much liquor.

‘Sshh; course not,’ Lilac said reproachfully, ‘She’s got a touch of stomach-gripes, that’s all. And her head aches. I’d better stay with her, in case she needs something.’

It was three months since Bessie and Charlie had left and the August heat was stifling. The thought of the canal was tempting, but it seemed mean to go off and leave Aunt upstairs in the stuffy bedroom with no one to make her a cup of tea when she felt better, or hold her head whilst she retched over the chamber pot. On the other hand, if she had fallen asleep ...

This hope was scotched when Aunt Ada appeared at the head of the tiny, narrow staircase. She swayed, clutched the bannister, then spoke.

‘You go off, chuck. I’m best left now. I’ll sleep once the ’ouse is quiet.’

‘Oh! Well, if you’re sure ...’

‘I’m sure.’ Aunt Ada managed a pale smile at them both. ‘You take our Lilac out, Art. It’ll do her good to get some fresh air. She shouldn’t be stuck ’ere with an old woman all day.’

A real gentleman would have told Aunt Ada that she was not old, but Art was only Art.

‘Right, Mizz Threadwell, I’ll keep me eye on ‘er,’ he said briskly. ‘Come on, chuck, and mind you do what I say!’

Lilac wavered; what good could she do here, after all? Aunt Ada probably would be better left. She could sleep, like she said. There were spuds peeled and a cabbage sliced, though no meat, yet. Lots of people didn’t ever taste meat, she had been told, but it was different for them. All the young people sent money, even the boys. The shillings mounted up quite nicely ... but Aunt Ada had gone back into the bedroom and she, Lilac, had not asked her for a tanner to buy a pig’s trotter or half a pound of scrag. Still, she’d done her work and her shopping could be done on the way back, so why shouldn’t she go with Art?

‘All right, I’ll come,’ she said. She untied the enormous apron which reached her toes and hung it on the back of the door. Despite the fact that she had no money she knew that Aunt’s credit was good, so she would get someone to let her have a pig’s foot on tick. There was a nice butcher just past the library on Collingwood Street; she could try him.

‘I’ll need to stop at Fletcher’s, to see if I can get a pig’s foot on tick, on the way home,’ she said as the two of them set off. It was a sunny afternoon and the gang, in this instance, turned out to be Art himself, his pal Fred and a little lad known as Nips who never seemed to grow and suffered from some sort of skin disease which made adults eye him warily. ‘Can I get Sukey? She’d like to learn to swim ... leastways I reckon she would.’

Art sighed but agreed; clearly he was in a good mood this afternoon, so she should make the best of it. Accordingly, she ran the short distance down Tenterden Street and rattled on the door. Sukey’s mum
answered it, a big white bowl in the crook of one arm. She was beating a batter and only paused long enough to grin at Lilac and turn to shout over her shoulder, ‘Sukey, your pal’s ’ere!’

Sukey duly joined the expedition, bringing with her a shabby piece of towelling.

‘Wharrer you want that for?’ Art said rudely, when he saw it. ‘Gairls don’t swim!’

‘They bloody do,’ Sukey said stoutly. ‘I bin swimmin’ since I was a nipper.’

Art grinned at this blatant lie but said nothing more and the children mooched happily along through the warm and dusty streets. Now that she was actually outside, Lilac stopped worrying about Aunt Ada; what was the point, after all? Grownups did not confide in kids, not even when the kids were sensible ones, like herself. If Auntie was ill then they would have to spend some of the money the boys and Nellie sent on paying a doctor to make her better, that was all.

Presently they drew level with the blacksmith’s forge, a place which would normally have brought them to a halt as they inspected the great, patient horses waiting their turn, the smith in his stained leather apron hammering away and, best of all, the great roaring fire. But on such an afternoon as this the smithy repelled with its heat and with the flies that danced round the horses’ patient heads, so they skidded down Burlington Street, crossed busy Vauxhall Road, avoided death-by-tram by a whisker as one of those mighty vehicles came rocketing down the centre of the roadway, and continued across Houghton Bridge, dropping onto the towpath on the further side.

This was all new ground to Lilac. She looked up at the great buildings towering above the water, wondering what they were; warehouses? They looked grim,
the red of their bricks long blackened by the industrial smoke.

‘That’s the sugar refinery,’ Art said, following her glance. ‘Look at the water, see it steam? They puts out ’ot water ... nice when the weather’s cold but right now I wants a cool dip, so we won’t stop ’ere, we’ll go on a bit.’

They went on along the towpath until they reached a wider stretch where Art apparently considered the location suitable for their purpose. They stopped and the boys stripped and jumped into the water, clearly following a well-accustomed routine. Sukey and Lilac took off their dresses rather more reluctantly, but left their knickers in place. No nice girl would ever take off her knickers, Lilac was sure of that – she was not too sure that a nice girl would consider swimming in the canal, but on a hot afternoon such as this she was willing to take a chance – and besides, Nellie need never know and Aunt Ada had not seemed nearly so fussy, lately, over what her young charge did.

The water was wonderfully cool on her hot skin when she sat down on the edge and paddled her feet. It wasn’t too deep, Art said, so she slid the rest of the way ... and it came well up her chest, nearly causing her to die of fright when she thought, for one awful moment, that it was going to go over her head. She screamed a bit and so did Sukey, and the boys smacked the surface of the water and laughed at them and soaked them ... and finally, Art put a grimy hand under Lilac’s chin and told her to ‘Take your perishin’ feet off of the bottom, gairl, and give yourself a chanst!’

And after watching Nips, who was unconcernedly sculling himself along in the water, Lilac, obediently making frog-like motions with her hands and feet, found she was swimming, actually swimming! Art could
scarcely believe it, and when he did he was proud of her, Lilac could tell. He grinned and shouted out to passersby and suddenly the canal was a magic place, the water her element, one of which she would never tire. She splashed and shouted to Art to watch this and frogged her way from one side of the canal to the other. She turned onto her back and splashed with her hands and feet and did not sink. She dog-paddled, and that worked too – she felt marvellous, a real success at this strange, unfeminine sport.

Sukey could not swim, did not want to swim. She refused to take her feet off the bottom, shrieked when they tried to force her to do so and swore colourfully when she slipped and the water splashed her face. Nips, Art and Fred did not jeer too much, because Sukey was extremely strong for a girl and could land a good punch. Besides, they did not feel that girls should swim – Lilac was almost unfairly favoured by fortune, they seemed to infer.

And presently, cooled down delightfully, wet hair dripping deliciously all down her shabby dress, Lilac linked arms with Sukey on one side and Art on the other, and the five of them retraced their steps.

‘Now you can swim, we’ll tek you to the free pool, on Burlington Street,’ Art said as they made their weary way up the Scotland Road once more. ‘Doin’ anythin’ tomorrer, Li? After Mass?’

Lilac knew he meant after he had been to Mass, so she shook her head ... then abruptly remembered the pig’s foot.

‘Oh, Art, I never went to Fletcher’s! Oh, and Auntie won’t be too pleased with spuds and cabbage and no meat at all. I’d better go back, I suppose.’

Art raised a brow. He looked tough and cynical, Lilac thought admiringly.

‘Your Aunt Ada won’t be eatin’ tonight,’ he stated roundly. ‘Come to our mam’s, Li, she’ll feed you.’

‘Oh, but what about Aunt Ada? Surely she’ll want something?’

‘Not when she’s been sick as any dog,’ Art said, not unkindly but practically, as it turned out. ‘Can’t eat when you’ve been throwin’ up, that’s one thing I
do
know.’

‘I’ll see how she is,’ Lilac said rather guardedly, ‘But someone’s got to eat the spuds and the cabbage, I suppose. Come to that, I could get a pig’s foot anyway, for tomorrow.’

She said goodbye to Art outside the house and went in cautiously. No one had put the potatoes on and the fire was so low that she doubted whether she could cook the food, anyway. She stole up the stairs and peeped in on Aunt Ada. The older woman was asleep, lying on her back and snoring gently. Lilac cleared her throat, but her aunt never so much as moved.

As she made her way down the stairs once more, it occurred to Lilac that this was not the first time her aunt had been ill since Charlie and Bessie left. Was it possible to be sick in your stomach because you were unhappy? If so, she would have to cheer Aunt Ada up somehow, or neither of them would ever get a square meal again. And in the meantime, since the fire was almost out and the evening warm, she rather thought she’d accept Art’s invitation and take her spuds and cabbage round to Mrs O’Brien.

She checked once more that Aunt Ada was sleeping and then set out, with the potatoes and cabbage all in the one pan. She knocked a little timidly, for Art was the eldest of a large family and she found them rather intimidating. Mr O’Brien rarely put in an appearance
but Mrs O’Brien, a fat and untidy woman with a reputation for spite, usually took pleasure in reminding Lilac of her orphan status and generally put her in her place. But today, however, since she was bearing gifts ...

Art came to the door, grinned at her and seized the pan.

‘What’s all this, chuck?’ he said loudly. ‘No need to bring nothin’, you’re welcome as me pal!’

‘Your mam might as well have ’em,’ Lilac said practically. ‘Our fire’s gone out and there’s enough here for two or three. Poor Auntie Ada’s still sleepin’, so I thought I might as well come round, and you might as well get the benefit of all me spud-bashin’.’

‘I telled me Mam you was swimmin’ already and she scarce believed me,’ Art said, pushing Lilac ahead of him into the dark, overcrowded little room. ‘Here’s Lilac, Mam, she’s brung veggies.’

‘Oh,
very
nice,’ Mrs O’Brien said, in the tone of voice which meant quite the opposite. But she grabbed the pan nevertheless and put it onto the hob. ‘And ’ow’s your auntie ... not that she is your auntie ’cept in a manner o’ speakin’.’

‘She’s poorly,’ Lilac admitted. ‘If it goes on, we’ll have to get the doctor.’

‘Oh? The doctor, for Mrs Threadwell, is it? Oh yes, of course, she’ll see a doctor, whilst the rest of us mek do with the pharmy on Leeds Street.’

‘Oh well, the pharmacy would probably do,’ Lilac said, relieved at the suggestion. Not that Mrs O’Brien had meant to be helpful, she quite realised that. The older woman was just being spiteful, as usual.

‘She’ll be fine by tomorrer,’ Art said comfortably. ‘Come and give us a hand to set the table, will you?’

It was not only set the table, of course. It was wipe
noses, clout heads – some of the heads had nits, Lilac saw – and generally help Art to subdue his younger brothers and sisters into some semblance of order. And the cabbage and potatoes which Lilac had meant for two of them were made to go round everyone ... eight without me, Lilac realised.

But there was a scouse to go with the vegetables and plenty of bread to sop up the gravy; Mr O’Brien was a docker and well-paid when he was in work and Art picked up odd jobs from time to time. Furthermore, Mrs O’Brien helped out at the fruit market sometimes and Art’s younger brothers nicked odds and ends when times were hard.

It was a filling and pleasant meal but as soon as she’d washed the dishes Lilac said she must be off and despite some nasty cracks from Mrs O’Brien about their food being good enough but their company not worth staying for, she left as fast as she could.

Aunt Ada was still sleeping; Lilac stood looking down at her for a moment, and then sniffed suspiciously. There was a funny smell in the room, a faintly medicinal kind of smell. Did that mean that Aunt Ada had seen sense and gone out and got a bottle from the pharmacy? Or she might even have seen a doctor.