The Mill Girls of Albion Lane (14 page)

Having laboured over each and every word, Lily had reread the letter at least ten times, lost heart then read it again before she'd finally sealed the envelope and sent it. How would Margie react to receiving it? she wondered. Would she still be angry that Lily wouldn't leave her alone, or would the letter soften her? And how was the poor girl coping up there on Ada Street, alone except for Granddad Preston?

On Thursday and again on Friday, Lily had rushed home from work hoping for a reply, but none had come.

‘Did we have any post today?' she'd asked Rhoda on both days.

Her mother had gone on as usual, sitting by the fireside darning socks or turning one of Arthur's collars to hide the frayed edge. ‘No, why? Are you expecting something?'

‘No,' Lily had fibbed unconvincingly on the Thursday.

But on the Friday Lily had hung up her coat and replied differently, partly to take attention off a red-eyed Evie who, upset by more unwanted attention from Fred Lee, had taken herself straight off upstairs. ‘Yes,' she'd admitted. ‘I hoped for a letter from Margie.'

‘Well, there's nothing,' Rhoda had said with grim finality, putting aside the half-finished collar, resting her head against the back of the chair and closing her eyes.

On Saturday morning, Lily sat at her mending table building up her hopes of a letter, working at the flaws in a piece of navy blue worsted, speaking only when spoken to but mainly lost in anxious contemplation of what would happen to Margie in a month or two's time when the baby began to show. Had Margie actually thought that far ahead? she wondered. And how would Granddad Preston react? If he was angry, as might be expected, who then would Margie turn to for support?

Lily's fingers ran over the beautifully smooth surface of the dark material as Ethel called for Jennie to come and take a finished piece for flipping and Miss Valentine sat in her office sealing wage packets and making entries in her ledger.

Would Margie even go on with the pregnancy? Lily asked herself, crushing the urge to pass over the painful dilemma as she might skim over a flaw in the fabric. No, she had to unpick and tie up the unanswered question with information she'd gleaned from their mother's years of delivering babies in the neighbourhood. Everyone, including Lily, knew there were always women who didn't want to go the full nine months – wives worn out by the absence of family planning and too many pregnancies, unmarried mothers like Margie, women from hard-pressed families who couldn't afford to feed another mouth.

Sometimes Rhoda would come home and talk about such situations and the lengths to which people would go to get rid of a baby. ‘If they ask me to help, I tell them no – there are other people to go to in a case like that,' was the upright, undeviating message from Rhoda Briggs. Once, Lily had overcome her reticence and asked her mother what was her objection to helping. She remembered now the steady way her mother had looked at her and her calm voice as she'd replied. ‘Do I mind snuffing out a baby's life? The answer is yes, it's not for me, not under any circumstances. Mind you, I don't judge others and I understand why some might want to, especially in this day and age.'

This conversation came back to Lily now and she wondered if Rhoda's response would be the same if she learned that her own daughter, aged sixteen, was in the family way.

I expect it would, Lily thought. ‘You've made your bed and now you must lie in it,' would most likely be the stern, unshakeable opinion.

Deep in thought when the midday buzzer sounded, Lily was only roused by Vera turning off her lamp and putting her tools into the tin box stowed under her table.

‘Come on, slow coach,' she told Lily as she hurried away. ‘It's time to clock off.'

Lily packed up then followed her fellow workers downstairs where she met up with Evie for the walk up to Albion Lane.

While they were waiting at the kerb on Ghyll Road, Annie caught them up. ‘I shan't be coming out tonight, worse luck. Grandma Sykes is poorly and I promised to drop by. She's on her last legs, by the look of things.'

The old woman known locally as Grandma Sykes had until recently kept the baker's shop on Chapel Street before it was taken over by her daughter, Marjorie, and she was in fact no relation to Annie so Lily took it as a mark of her friend's warm-heartedness that she was willing to give up her precious Saturday night out.

‘Give her my love,' Lily told her. ‘What's Sybil up to – did she say?'

Stepping out across the street during a gap in the traffic, Annie gave an abbreviated reply. ‘Gone straight round to her brother's house for tea. Looks like you're on your own, Lily, love!'

‘Never mind.' Lily waved after Annie and turned her thoughts towards the longed-for letter from Margie, picturing it waiting for her on the mantelpiece at home.

It was Evie who reminded her about Arthur's sweets from Newby's and who offered to buy them out of her own wages. ‘I can see your mind's on other things,' she said sweetly.

‘You're right, it is,' Lily agreed.

‘Then let me do it. I'll run up the street with Arthur's treat then pop round to Peggy's house for a good chinwag,' Evie decided, happy at the thought of a whole day and a half free from Fred Lee.

So Lily hurried up Albion Lane alone, only to find Arthur running to meet her in his belted raincoat and school cap. ‘Steady on,' she told him as he patted her pockets in the search for sugar treasure. ‘Evie's at Newby's now, buying sweeties for you.'

‘Here, Arthur, fancy a toffee while you're waiting?' Taking Lily by surprise, Billy stepped out of the alley where he'd been sheltering from the wind with Harry and Ernie. He let Arthur delve into the crumpled bag that he held out for him. ‘Ernie mentioned he hasn't seen much of your Margie this week,' he said as casually as could be.

‘Did he, now?' Lily decided to bypass Billy and speak directly to the butcher's son, still standing in the alley with Harry. ‘Didn't you hear, Ernie? Margie is staying at Granddad Preston's house.'

A bemused Ernie paused then shrugged and carried on talking to Harry.

‘Don't be taken in by that couldn't-care-less act,' Billy advised, looking embarrassed. ‘Ernie was hoping she'd be at the Assembly Rooms later.'

By this time Lily had worked out that it was Billy himself who was interested in her sister's whereabouts but she played along. ‘Well, I'd tell Ernie not to hold his breath if I was you.'

Billy cleared his throat and changed the subject. ‘How's the toffee, Arthur? Is it any good?'

‘Umm-mmm.' Arthur's mouth was full so he nodded hard. Then he saw Evie emerging from Newby's and he scurried off.

‘Toffee, Lily?' Billy said, offering her the bag.

‘No thanks.' She smiled and was on her way again when Harry fell into step beside her on the short walk up the hill.

‘The Rovers are playing at home this afternoon,' he mentioned, as if this was the very thing that would capture a girl's attention. ‘Bert Stanley is in goal. It should be a good match.'

‘Champion, Harry,' Lily replied, one hand on the rail leading up to her front door. This was the first time she and Harry had talked since Monday night and her heart fluttered in her chest as she tried in vain to concentrate on whether or not the letter from Margie would be there.

‘It'll be two–nil to us, I reckon,' Harry predicted, seemingly unable to steer the conversation in the right direction. After all, he knew Lily didn't have the faintest interest in who played where for his favourite team. His fair colouring made him blush easily so he ducked his head to concentrate on grinding out the stub of his cigarette on the damp pavement until he'd regained his composure. ‘Sorry, you're not a big Rovers supporter, are you? Anyway, forget about the football …'

‘It wasn't me who brought the subject up,' Lily reminded him, raising her eyebrows. She'd seen him colour up and was amused by his effort to hide it.

‘I wanted to ask you something,' he went on.

Suddenly the mood changed. She felt her own face grow flushed as she realized that Harry was giving her a serious look, which claimed all her attention. She gave up thinking about Margie's letter while Harry, noticeably less full of himself than usual, swallowed hard.

‘Say no if you want, it won't hurt my feelings,' he said, fixing his gaze on her face again and looking as if the words were about to choke him, ‘but I wanted to ask if you'd like to come out to the flicks with me tonight?'

Lily felt a spark of delight light up the cold, grey afternoon. ‘Tonight?' she repeated. ‘Just you and me?'

‘Why not?' he confirmed. ‘We could go to the Victory, or we could get a tram all the way into town to the new Odeon if you like. My treat.'

‘Race you!' Arthur called to Evie as they approached number 5 and he charged up the steps.

‘That's not fair, you didn't say Ready, Get set, Go,' she protested, lagging behind.

Arthur barged through the front door and left it standing open. From inside the house they heard Walter grumbling about letting in the cold air. Evie hurried up the steps and closed the door behind her.

‘Forget it – you're probably busy,' Harry said, misinterpreting the long pause. He turned away from Lily back towards the alley. He'd done it – he'd asked her and now it looked as if she was about to turn him down. ‘Not to worry – another time perhaps.'

‘No,' she said quickly. ‘I'm not doing anything tonight.'

He stopped and retraced his steps, tipped back his cap and looked up at her questioningly in the way that made her knees turn to jelly.

‘I'd love to come,' she told him, her face ablaze with a mixture of awkwardness and excitement. ‘I'll meet you by the lamp post at the top of the street. What time?'

‘Half past five,' he told her, as chuffed as could be. ‘Let's hope Rovers win and make it a real day to remember!'

With a wage of twenty shillings in her pocket and an outing to the pictures with Harry planned, Lily was determined to rise above her cousin Tommy's cheap jibes, which began as soon as she entered the house, unbuttoned her coat and took off her hat.

He was sitting at the table with a pal of his, Frank Summerskill. A year or two younger than Tommy and without any family in the immediate neighbourhood, Frank lodged in the same overcrowded terraced house on Canal Road as George and Tommy Briggs. His sharp features and small, glittering eyes set in a fleshy face somehow reminded Lily of a large, pouchy rodent – an impression enhanced by his dense, greyish-brown hair, which was cut short all over and was reminiscent of an animal pelt. His worn clothes – a shapeless brown jacket that was out at the elbows and patched, grey trousers – told Lily that he'd still had no success in his long search for a job. In fact, the out-of-work Frank was lucky to have any roof over his head, even one as unhealthy and cramped as the house overlooking the canal.

‘You see that, Frank?' Tommy nudged him with his elbow and gestured towards Lily. ‘That's what happens when you rise up in the world – you go to and from work in your Sunday best. And look, she doesn't even get her hands dirty – see.'

‘Aye, it's all right for some,' Frank grumbled as he drew the back of his hand across the underside of his nose. Then he gathered catarrh in his throat, took aim and spat in the grate.

Lily's top lip curled in disgust.

‘You don't have to look far to see where Margie got her habit of looking down her nose at people from,' Tommy sneered. ‘And look where that got her.'

Mention of her sister made Lily squeeze past Frank to search on the mantelpiece for the hoped-for letter but she found only a bill for the latest coal delivery and a note to her mother from Doris Fuller telling Rhoda she was very sorry but could she wait until after Christmas to pay her the money owing for the mustard plasters.

‘Anything from Margie?' Evie asked from her position by the sink where she wiped Arthur's sticky hands.

Lily shook her head.

‘See!' Tommy jeered, thumbs hitched in his waistcoat pockets. ‘Gone without so much as a backward glance, living the high life up at Overcliffe and never thinking about the people she's left behind.'

‘Tommy, you don't know what you're talking about so why don't you just shut up?' Lily challenged. ‘And what are you hanging about here for anyway?'

He grinned and leaned back on two legs of the rickety chair. ‘I'm waiting for Uncle Walter, aren't I?'

‘Why, where is he?'

Before Tommy saw fit to answer, Arthur wormed free of Evie and put Lily in the picture. ‘Father's upstairs with Mother. He wants to know why she's not getting up.'

‘Mother's still in bed?' Lily didn't wait for more information. Alarmed, she took the stairs two at a time, rushing into her parents' room without the usual knock on the door. She found her father sitting on the side of the bed and her mother, white as a sheet, still in her nightdress and lying under a thin woollen blanket topped by Walter's brown overcoat. ‘Whatever's the matter?' Lily wanted to know, her stomach churning.

‘Nothing that a day or two in bed won't put right,' Rhoda insisted.

Lily turned to an abject Walter for more information. ‘Father?'

‘I wanted to send for the doctor but she wouldn't let me,' he explained.

‘But what's wrong with her?'

‘She's been sick in the washbasin all night and she says she's got a headache. That's all I know, except that it's not like her to take to her bed, is it?' Sitting in his shirtsleeves, unshaven and without a collar, he looked somehow younger and more defenceless than usual. He seemed relieved that Lily had got home from work and looked to her for what they should do next.

‘Where does your head hurt, Mother?' Lily sat on the opposite side of the bed and clasped Rhoda's cold hand.