The White Empress (4 page)

The following Saturday, late in the afternoon, Mick Cleary staggered up Eldon Street, weaving his way from lamppost to lamppost.
It was Cat who first saw him as she raised her head after just finishing the task of whitening the front step with donkey-stone.
It was the last chore of the day and she was hot and tired. She sat back on her heels and pressed her hands into the small
of her aching back, admiring her handiwork but thinking that by Monday morning it would be as dirty as
the cobbles in the road. Then she looked down the street and saw him.

From the condition he was in she knew what had happened. It was all too obvious. He’d been sent packing. Sacked. And he’d
already spent what money he’d been paid off with, for in the first flush of merriment he was always over-generous. He’d probably
bought drinks for the entire crowd in the pub. Now there would be all hell let loose. Now the only money would be whatever
Shelagh had left over when she came home – if any! She got to her feet and stood, hands on hips, as she watched him stagger
on and when he was within reach, she grabbed him by his shirt front and shoved him inside the house. A drunken father was
nothing new in the neighbourhood and no one would mock or pity her, but that fact didn’t help much.

She slammed the door and rounded on him. ‘Why, Pa? Why did you keep on drinking? You knew you’d lose your job and you know
you won’t get another one! There’s a hundred more waiting in line!’

He muttered something unintelligible and she turned her head away as the smell of whisky and tobacco assailed her nostrils.
The voices in the kitchen grew louder. Well, she wasn’t going to stand and watch her mother’s face cloud with worry and despair,
or listen to the tart remarks of Maisey O’Dwyer. She squared her shoulders. This was one night when Shelagh was going to come
straight home from work with her week’s wage intact!

She ran down the street, the faded blue cotton skirt flapping round her bare legs, the grubby plimsoles she
wore on her feet making no sound on the cobbles. Already she could see the workers streaming out through the gates of the
sugar refinery and the air was rent with the ‘knocking-off’ whistles of all the factories. Vauxhall Road was crowded with
workers finished for the week, their wages in their pockets.

She dodged between bicycles, carts and trams. Pushing and shoving her way through the crowds, trying to see the familiar face
beneath the white cotton turban all the girls wore covering their hair. She spotted Bessie Abbot and called out to her. Bessie
waved cheerfully.

‘Where’s our Shelagh? Bessie, have you seen her?’

‘Last time I saw her she was off with our Maggie and the others.’

‘Off where?’

‘Ma Boyle’s, I think they said. She’d brought her clothes with her, said she wasn’t goin’ home to get bawled out for spending
her own money. Said she was going to enjoy it.’

‘Oh, did she now! Where’s Ma Boyle’s?’

‘Old Hall Street, next to The Albany. Ask anyone, you can’t miss it!’

It took her nearly fifteen minutes to reach the junction of Vauxhall Road and Tithebarn Street, so congested was the traffic.
By the time the imposing façade of Exchange Station came into sight she was breathless. She leaned against the corner of the
building that flanked Bixteth Street, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t care how much of a scene she made,
Shelagh was coming home with her! She walked on and turned up Old Hall Street. There were plenty of pubs
and all of them full. The bowler-hatted, stiff-collared brigade of office workers only frequented these pubs and saloons at
lunchtimes Monday to Friday and most of them finished at noon on Saturday, so the clientèle on Saturday nights was not of
the usual, more refined sort.

She’d never been inside a public house before and with some trepidation she pushed open the door of the first one she came
to. Its name ‘The Coffee House’ was emblazoned above the door though she suspected that that beverage was seldom drunk on
the premises. The heat, the smoke and the smell of beer hit her full in the face and she began to cough.

‘That’s it, girl, ger it off yer chest!’ Someone slapped her hard on the back. A group of men and girls were leaning against
the wall, glasses in their hands.

‘Where’s Ma Boyle’s Oyster Saloon?’

‘Gerroff, luv, yer too young to go there!’ came the good-natured reply.

‘I’m looking for my sister, where is it, please?’

A girl with very brassy blonde hair and a bright redand-green-flowered dress smiled at her. ‘A bit further up, luv, you can’t
miss it.’

Nodding her thanks she pushed her way out into the street again. The air was fresh and clean and she could smell the river
on the breeze. How anyone could choose to be stuck in places like that, choked with tobacco and beer fumes and packed like
sardines in a tin, was beyond her understanding.

The girl had been right. The Oyster Saloon was unmistakable. It was very old and unique. Its door stood open giving a glimpse
of low ceilings and plush
upholstery. Like the Coffee House it was packed but gritting her teeth she elbowed her way in, blinking in the dim light.
She knew she looked out of place. A skinny girl with untidy hair and smudges on her face. Bare legs and old plimsoles. The
grubby, faded skirt and the old calico blouse that was split under the arms and damp with sweat. But she wasn’t going to let
all that deter her.

She ignored the amused and scornful glances, the heads jerked in her direction, the smirks on the faces of the women and girls
in their crisp print dresses and high-heeled sandals.

‘Can I help you, luv?’

She looked up to find a middle-aged man beside her. ‘I’m looking for my sister. I think she’s here. Shelagh Cleary.’ Her voice
shook a little.

‘Is there anyone called Shelagh Cleary ’ere?’ he bawled over the din.

‘Who wants ’er?’ a man’s voice replied.

‘Over there, in that corner by the window. Go on and then get off home with you or we’ll get our licence taken off us!’

Cat pushed her way through and saw her sister with Maggie and two other girls sitting at a table near the small window. They
were surrounded by a group of young men who already seemed to have had enough to drink. The smile instantly vanished from
Shelagh’s face as she caught sight of Cat.

‘What the ’ell do you want? You’ve come spying on me, haven’t you, you little sneak!’ She stood up and grabbing Cat’s arm,
shoved her into the corner, placing
herself between Cat and her friends. ‘Just look at the cut of you, you dirty little slut! You followed me, just to show me
up in front of them, didn’t you?’

Her nails were biting into the flesh of Cat’s arm and she yelped and struggled. ‘No, I didn’t! I went to meet you from work
and Bessie told me you’d come here! You’ve got to come home now!’

‘What for?’

‘Pa’s lost his job. He came home drunk and broke!’ Shelagh laughed in her face. ‘Is that all! Jesus! I thought Maisey had
had a heart attack!’

Cat was furious, not only because Shelagh was laughing at her and taking the catastrophe so lightly, but because she had never
heard her sister blaspheme and was shocked. She could also hear the titters of laughter behind her.

Shelagh turned to her friends. ‘She’s run all the way here just to tell me me Pa’s drunk again!’

Their laughter battered against Cat’s ears and grated on her raw nerves, but she tried again. ‘You’ve got to come home before
you waste all your wages! You know how we’ll need that money! You’ve got to come home and I’m staying until you do!’ she finished
defiantly.

‘Oh, no, you’re not! It’s my money, I worked for it and I’m not keeping the whole lot of you! That drunken sod can go and
find another job, I’m not keeping him in booze and you can get out and find a job, too, and so can Eamon! He’s old enough.
In fact he’s too bloody old to be at school when he could be out earning a few bob! You get out of here, you whinging little
bitch and leave me alone!’

Cat stood her ground. ‘No! I’m not leaving without you!’

‘Then I’ll have you thrown out, you’re too young to be in here anyway! I’ll call the barman; Kate Boyle don’t stand no nonsense
and if you make a scene the scuffers will come and we’ll all end up in the nick! Now get out!’

Cat’s resolve broke under these threats and she darted towards the door.

‘Scruffy bloody brat, shouldn’t even be allowed in here!’ Shelagh called after her.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the corner of Prussia Square and then she sank down in the doorway of an office
building and began to cry. She had failed and she couldn’t face going back. Everything had gone wrong and she couldn’t understand
why Shelagh couldn’t see that. But her sister had changed. She’d always been prone to selfishness, but now it seemed that
she didn’t care about anyone, not even Ma. That thought and the humiliation she had suffered brought on a bout of fresh sobbing.

‘What’s up with yer?’

She rubbed her arm across her eyes and looked up. The figure of a man was outlined against the darkening sky. ‘Nothing,’ she
muttered, sniffing.

‘What are yer whinging for then? I ’ate to see a girl cryin’.’ His voice was slightly slurred and she got to her feet.

‘I wasn’t crying!’

‘Liar!’

She could see him more clearly now and she didn’t like what she saw. He was stocky and bull-necked.
His hair was plastered down with a sickly smelling oil and glistened, as though it were wet, in the dim light cast by the
streetlamp further down. His eyes were small and close-set and she could smell the beer on his breath.

‘I’m waiting for my Pa, he’ll be along in a minute, so will my brother.’ She hoped she sounded convincing for a pang of fear
gnawed at her stomach.

‘Are they now? Which pub are they in?’

‘The Coffee House. I think I can hear them coming now.’

He turned his head slightly and then smirked at her. ‘Not unless they’re two drunken swabbies!’

The two sailors passed by, holding each other upright, a bottle clasped in both their hands. She’d get no help from them.
The fear was growing. She’d heard about girls who had been caught alone in the dark back streets.

‘Yer not a bad lookin’ judy, a bit skinny like, but not bad.’ He leaned closer and she backed further into the doorway, frantically
wondering if she could make a dash for freedom for she guessed he wouldn’t be very quick on his feet.

‘Not thinking of runnin’ out on me are yer?’

‘I’ll scream! I’ll scream so loud that the scuffers will hear me!’

‘What about yer Pa and yer brother?’ He moved closer and reached out, his stubby fingers touching her small breast.

She seized his hand and sank her teeth into the flesh as hard as she could.

‘Yer bleedin’ little bitch! Just fer that I’ll teach yer what happens to girls like you!’

She felt his hands tearing at the calico of her blouse and she began to scream and struggle. He pushed her back against the
wooden door, banging her head hard. A pain shot through her head and her vision clouded, but she still fought on, trying to
claw at his face with her nails.

She wasn’t fully aware of what was happening until she heard him swear again, then scream in agony before crumpling in a heap
at her feet, clutching his groin.

‘My God, is that you, Cat Cleary? Are you alright, has he hurt you?’

She had never heard anything so sweet as her name on the lips of Joe Calligan who had knocked down her attacker with one swift,
well-aimed kick. She fell against his broad chest, giving way to the hysteria that had swept over her.

He held her thin, trembling body tightly. He hadn’t known it was she. He had only known that some poor girl was being molested
and he had instinctively gone to her aid. He hadn’t seen her since the day she had landed but it was obvious that things hadn’t
got any better.

When her sobs began to subside he lifted her face gently with his hand. ‘Did he hurt you, Cat? What are you doing here by
yourself at this time? Come on, I’ll take you home.’

She drew away from him. ‘No! No, I can’t go back there! I won’t go back there!’

‘Are things that bad?’

She leaned her head against his chest again. Oh, if only he knew.

‘How long is it since you’ve eaten, Cat?’

‘I . . . I can’t remember.’

‘Then first of all let’s get some food inside you and then you can tell me what’s the matter.’

‘I don’t feel hungry, I feel sick.’

‘You will if you haven’t eaten and you’ve had a shock.’ He prodded the still-writhing figure contemptuously with the toe of
his boot. ‘Come on, there’s a clean, cheap little cafe down past the station.’

Suddenly she did feel hungry. She also felt a little calmer and with his arm supporting her she felt safe.

Over a cup of steaming hot tea and a plate of fish and chips she related to Joe most of the events of that night and also
those of the previous weeks.

‘So, nothing much has changed then?’

She pushed the empty plate away and rested her chin on her elbows. ‘Nothing.’

‘You could take up Shelagh’s suggestion and get a job yourself. Is there something wrong with you that you can’t work?’

‘No! I told you, I’ve been looking after Ma and the house and seeing that our Eamon goes to school.’

‘From what I hear your Mam’s well looked after and it is Maisey’s house and she’s got enough kids of her own to clean it and
as for “meladdo”, well if things are so bad, why shouldn’t he leave school and get a job? Oh, I know fourteen is the official
leaving age, but the School Board don’t pay much attention to it when it comes to the likes of him – not when things are so
bad.’

She stuck out her chin stubbornly. ‘I want him to finish school and get a decent job.’

‘The only job he’ll get is a gofer.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You know, running errands. “Go fer this, go fer that!”’

‘Well, I’m not going to work in one of those stinking factories!’

‘Why?’

‘Because . . . because I can do better than that!’ Seeing the quirk of amusement twist his lips, her colour heightened. ‘I
can! I know I can!’