A Liverpool Lass (42 page)

This is my place, my home, Nellie told herself, dragging the box across the road and suddenly loving every cobble, every stone, every feather on every pigeon, though she knew that, near-to, they would probably prove to be a scruffy, scurvy bunch. She sniffed the air and smelt the clean buffeting breeze from the Mersey, the smells of food and vegetables from St John’s, a whiff of cod and haddock from the fish stalls and the odd dry, tinny smell of the trams lined up on Old Haymarket, waiting to leave.

She walked down William Brown Street, still full to bursting with love for her city; how had she borne to be away? She had left here once before, to go to Moelfre, but she had been scarcely more than a child, then. Now she was a woman and could feel the deep, abiding love for this place which had been growing in
her all her life and had finally come to its full flowering. She glanced across to the Free Library. There were daffodils in the beds, nodding their golden heads, and a few frail primroses. Ahead of her the Wellington monument loomed black against the blue sky.

Her tram was second from the front when she reached the line-up, which was good, since it meant she would have a shorter wait for departure. She climbed aboard, gave her money to the conductor in exchange for a ticket, and let him stand her box in the doorway, where it would not impede other passengers. She sat on the shiny wooden seat and stared eagerly out through the glass. She felt as if she could never have enough of the place which she knew like the back of her hand. Presently, with a jolt, the tram started, and she could see for herself that it was the same, it had not changed. Straight up Byrom Street, like an arrow from a bow, the tram charged, the bell ringing warningly at every intersection, the conductor calling out the stops. At Gerard Street, where they stopped to let people off, she heard and felt the rumble of an underground train as it sped on its way to Waterloo station. Home! A stranger would not have known what that rumble implied!

The conductor sang out ‘Arden Street, anyone for Arden Street?’ and Nellie’s smile broadened even as she felt an unaccountable urge to weep. She was home! They were on the Scottie! Any minute now it would be her stop and she would be lugging the heavy case into the Court and through her own front door!

‘Raysho Street, Raysho Street,’ shouted the conductor. They never got it right but everyone knew what they meant. Nellie made her way to the entrance and the conductor winked at her and heaved her suitcase down onto the flags.

‘There y’are, queen,’ he said. ‘Home at last, eh?’

Nellie nodded, too full to speak. He knew she was a nurse of course, because she was still in her grey cloak and uniform dress. No one had civilian clothes in France and she had no money to buy them with, not yet. Anyway, if she continued to nurse ...

But right now she simply could not think about the practicalities of her future. She did not know what the options were to be, let alone what she wanted. She heaved the heavy box under the archway and into the court. It was just the same! Doors were left wide open, women called from house to house, small children played ollies, scrambling after the roughly rounded clay balls. A girl of fourteen or so skipped rope, keeping an eye on a couple of scrawny babies who slept, tangled together like puppies, on a filthy piece of blanket laid out on the flagstones.

The girl looked round. It was Hannah Batterby from number eighteen.

‘Wotcher, Nellie,’ she said. ‘They’re tekin’ on at the tobaccer manufactory so me mam tole me to keep an eye on the kids. ’Ow’s life, then? What d’ya think of the ole city now you’ve been away from it a whiles?’

‘It’s the best place in the world to be,’ Nellie said seriously. She glanced across at number eleven, the only door which was closed. ‘I’m real glad to be home, Hannah ... who’s got the key, d’you know?’

‘Dunno, unless it’s Mrs O’Brien. Nah, it won’t be ’er, come to think on, it’s Art what goes in most days since the Thompsons left, I seen ’im, but ’e’s at school now, acourse. He don’t come ’ome dinnertimes no more either. Tell you what, Nellie, if you leave your luggage in our front room, you can walk up to school an’ get the key off of Art. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on your stuff.’

‘Oh Hannah, that is good of you,’ Nellie said gratefully. She put the case down just inside the open front door of number eighteen and turned away, digging in the pocket of her cloak. She found two pennies and gave them to Hannah. ‘I’m real grateful. Here, nip down to Taverners and get yourself some sweets.’

‘Ooh, I could just do wi’ some taffy,’ Hannah said, eagerly taking the pennies. ‘Thanks ever so, Nellie!’

Relieved of her burden, Nellie strolled out of the court again and turned right along the pavement. She would have liked to wait outside Lilac’s school, but suppose she did so and missed Art? Then she remembered that Art and Lilac usually walked home together; she went on past the end of the street and turned left after St Anthony’s Church, then walked quickly along the pavement until she reached the school.

It was a grim-looking building, the bricks long blackened, the tall, narrow sash windows each divided into many small panes scarcely adding to the building’s good looks. The school yard was deserted now, but presently it would resound to the remonstrances of teachers and the clatter of boots as the boys rushed out into what remained of the afternoon’s sunshine.

Nellie cast a couple of wistful glances over her shoulder, in the direction of Lilac’s school. She knew the child would have to hurry back to Rodney Street, but surely she would wait until Art came out, so that they could walk some of the way together? And she really could not risk meeting Lilac but missing Art, because if Art went off with her key she would be unable to get into number eleven!

The prospect of not being able to get inside her home was daunting, so Nellie stayed where she was. And presently, five minutes at least before the bell rang, she
was rewarded. A small, green-painted door to one side of the building opened and a figure slipped out. It could not be Art, who was small and stocky ... yet it was. She recognised the way his hair stood up in a quiff in front, the sturdiness of him, a certain something in his walk. He came down to the gate, walking with long strides, and Nellie waved to him.

‘Art! It’s me, I’m home!’

Art stared. Nellie stared too. He was tall, broad-shouldered, quite a young man now, no longer a boy. Yet in her letters Lilac always referred to him as though they were both children still. Or perhaps she did not, perhaps it was Nellie, assuming.

‘Wotcher, queen,’ Art said as soon as he got near enough. ‘I come out early so’s I can see our Lilac afore she ’as to rush off. She’ll be out in a few minutes, so we better ’urry.’

And hurry they did, arriving outside Lilac’s school just as, with a noise like a flock of starlings, the pupils emerged.

If Nellie thought Art had changed, she was astonished, even shocked, by the change in Lilac. Not a child, not even in the unbecoming school uniform, but a young woman, emerged from the throng of scholars. In fact she would not have recognised her but for that startling hair and the fact that Art, standing by her elbow, nudged her and pointed.

‘There’s she is! Good gairl, early for once. Look who’s ’ere, our Lilac!’

Lilac started to run towards them and Nellie stared and stared at the child she had loved ever since she had first held her. She had always thought Lilac pretty, but this was a beautiful young creature with great, dark blue eyes, a milk and roses complexion, and the slim yet rounded body which Nellie had previously
associated only with stars of stage and screen. And it was not just beauty, she discovered as Lilac drew near. There was a sort of chuckling charm in her smile, a delightful impishness, the confidence of someone who expects admiration and takes it for granted that she will be loved. How different from me, Nellie thought, sadly but without self-pity. I’m always delighted when someone’s nice to me, takes a bit of notice. I’m bowled over when someone shows me affection!

But right now, Lilac clearly had eyes for no one but Nellie.

‘Nellie, Nellie, Nellie!’ she gasped as she shot through the school gates and onto the pavement. ‘Oh Nell, I’ve missed you ever so ... don’t you look so sweet in your grey cloak – I declare, you’re no taller than me, but of course I’ve grown, and you’d done all your growing before you went to France. Oh Nell, it’s so good to have you home! Will you be back in number eleven tomorrow? Oh, how I wish I could come back with you now, but it wouldn’t be fair. Mrs Jenkins expects me home in about half an hour, she’ll want things done, and now I’m a sort of companion to Mrs Matteson, I have to speak nicely and always look neat – do I sound different, Nell? Oh lor’, and the Mattesons have their dinner at night, d’you know? We have supper – ever such lovely food we have, Nell. Well, ask Art – my carry-out is heaps nicer than most people’s – Art and me often share, don’t we? Oh look ... my tram ... I’d better run!’

She set off at a lope, looking over her shoulder at them, smiling, charming. Dismissing, too. But Art kept pace with her, looking into her face, a detaining hand on her arm.

‘Mrs Jenkins won’t mind if you tell ’er as your Nellie’s come ’ome,’ he said persuasively. ‘She’s awful
good, your Mrs Jenkins. And Mrs Matteson is even better, you’ve said so often.’

‘Oh yes, they’re both ever so nice, Mrs Matteson particularly. She takes such good care of me, but I can’t let her down ... perhaps tomorrow ...’

‘It’s all right, Li,’ Nellie said. ‘I’ll have a word with Mrs Jenkins and the Mattesons tomorrow, thank them for taking you in and keeping you safe and happy. And you sound as pretty as you look! So if you pack your traps this evening, or first thing tomorrow, I can collect ’em for you, then you can come straight home after school.’ She had to raise her voice above the rattle of the tram which was drawing up almost beside them. ‘Tell you what, I’ll come down with you now, it’s early still, perhaps they might let you come home tonight!’

Lilac hopped aboard the tram and darted up the stairs and onto the top deck. Nellie followed rather more sedately, first paying their fares, and sat down on one side of the younger girl whilst Art took the other. The three settled themselves, then Nellie turned to Lilac once more.

‘So I’ll talk to Mrs Matteson tonight, eh, queen? She’s awful nice, you said.’

‘Oh yes, very nice,’ Lilac agreed faintly. ‘But ... not tonight, Nellie! They depend on me, honest to God! I’ll have to give ’em a chance to get fixed up somehow, though I don’t know ... but not tonight, Nellie.’

‘Not?’ Nellie said rather blankly. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right, luv. It’s a bit sudden. I’ll come round tomorrow and ...’

‘Look, let me speak to them first, then call round for me after school tomorrow and I’ll tell you when to come,’ Lilac said. ‘They’ve been so good, Nell, I don’t want anyone upset.’

‘All right, if you say so,’ Nellie agreed after a short pause. ‘Where do you get off, queen?’

‘Depends which tram this is,’ Lilac said rather sulkily. ‘Either Leece Street and walk through, or by the pub on the corner of Knight Street. You were talking and I was in a hurry, so I didn’t look at the destination board.’

‘It don’t matter, though,’ Art pointed out. ‘You’ll know soon enough, queen! If the tram turns left by St Luke’s then it’s the Leece, if it goes straight it’s t’other one.’

Lilac said nothing for a moment, then she asked Nellie, in a rather strained voice, whether she had had a good journey.

‘Not so bad,’ Nellie said. ‘It took a long time ... do you know I’ve not even seen number eleven yet? Well, apart from the outside. I left my luggage with young Hannah from opposite. But you’ve been popping in from time to time and seeing it’s tidy, I suppose?’

‘Since the Thompsons left, do you mean? Art does,’ Lilac said quickly, with a rather defensive note creeping into her voice. ‘After all, what with school and work in the house, I’m pretty busy. I barely have time to pick up my post ... why didn’t you write, Nell, and tell me you were on your way?’

‘I did,’ Nellie said flatly. ‘But since you said it was better to keep writing to the court, you’ll likely not have received it yet. I wrote two weeks ago that it would be soon, though I couldn’t give an exact date.’

‘I don’t take the post out,’ Art said, since Lilac did not reply but continued to stare out of the window. ‘I don’t always get outer school in time an’ there’s no point in me havin’ the letters.’

‘Very true,’ Nellie said. She was beginning to feel uneasy. Lilac had grown so pretty and self-confident,
but surely the old, clinging, loving Lilac was still there, somewhere, beneath the exterior of this calm and self-assured young woman? She turned to say something to this effect just as Lilac said brightly, ‘Oh, I know which tram this is, it’s the one that goes down Berry Street and past the cemetery. I was looking down at the tram stop whilst the people got on and there’s an old woman with a wooden leg who catches this tram every night. She’s never on the tram which turns off down Leece so I suppose she lives by the docks, somewhere, and couldn’t walk that far.’

‘Well, now that we’ve solved which tram we’re on ...’ Nellie began, to be interrupted once more.

‘Nellie, honestly, it’s awful good of you to come home with me, but you can’t come in, not tonight, so why don’t you and Art stay on the tram? If you stay on until the terminus you can come back on it, all the way to the Scottie. It ’ud save you hanging about.’

‘Very sensible,’ Nellie said dryly, after another awkward pause. ‘That’s thoughtful of you, Lilac. Well, I’ll see you after school tomorrow, then.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Lilac said eagerly. The conductor shouted ‘St Mark’s,’ and she jumped to her feet. ‘Here’s my stop. Thanks ever so much for coming with me, Nell, and it’s lovely to have you home! See you tomorrow, then.’

After she had gone the tram continued to rattle along whilst Art and Nellie did their best to keep their balance and talk at the same time.

‘Don’t get upset ’cos of Lilac not wantin’ you to see them Mattesons,’ Art said presently. ‘She don’t want me up there, either. She lets me meet ’er outa school, but that’s about me lot, these days. She talked about some feller – George, ’is name was – who’s helpin’ her in some way. But I reckons those Mattesons tek good
care of ’er, like you said, so it’s good that she likes ’em. Per’aps it’s better not to interfere, eh?’