Authors: Lyn Andrews

Tags: #Sagas, #General, #Fiction

Across a Summer Sea (6 page)

BOOK: Across a Summer Sea

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Mary smiled at him. ‘You’ve a great way of looking at things.’

‘Ah, you have to be a bit of an optimist in this line of work, Mrs McGann. Otherwise you’d depress yourself into an early grave. Well, enjoy the wedding and the holiday.’

‘Thanks, and you have a happy Christmas, too.’

He watched her leave and shook his head. She was a striking young woman. It was such a pity that she would lose her looks and become old before her time, but that’s what would happen. It always did.

Mary dawdled home, stopping occasionally to exchange a few words with the other women she met who were all bustling around, busy with their preparations.

Thankfully she realised that Frank had gone upstairs to sleep off the effects of the alcohol, and she hoped he would be in a much better humour when he finally awoke. She sighed heavily and drew the curtains. Darkness was already falling. She pressed Frank’s suit and ironed his one good shirt and draped them carefully over the back of a chair. She ran the iron over what passed for Sunday clothes for the kids and then held up her dark blue skirt. She looked at it without much pleasure. It had been second-hand when she’d bought it nearly three years ago; now it was limp-looking and shiny in patches. Well, it would have to do. Maybe she could just afford a blouse or a thin jacket, if she could find anything halfway decent in Paddy’s Market.
She
couldn’t afford Mrs Carmichael’s prices. The skirt might look a bit better for a quick press. Then she would have to try and find something for the kids’ tea, though God knew what. Then she had an idea.

‘Katie, take this and go and pay Mrs McShane for the coal. Then run up to Maggie Block’s and get a pennyworth of thick pea soup. Take that bowl, it will do you all for your tea.’

‘What about Da’s tea?’

‘Don’t bother with him. Leave him to sleep. I’ve to go out to the market, I’ll bring him something back. Then after you’ve all had that it’s time for a bath. Tommy, you can bring in the bathtub from the yard. It will take me ages to heat up the water.’

‘Ah, Mam, it’s too cold to be having a bath,’ he protested, having a strong aversion to soap and water and the rough bit of towel his mother used to scrub his neck and ears.

‘Don’t you start, meladdo! You’ll all be clean and tidy for tomorrow. I’m not having you go to church looking like little street arabs!’

They were all in bed, the fire was banked up and both Frank and Maggie were asleep when at half past ten Mary again wrapped her shawl around her and stepped out into the cold, dark streets.

There had been no further falls of snow and the sky was clear. The moon was bright and surrounded by a milky white halo. Already the snow beneath her feet was beginning to freeze. Despite the hour the streets were busy. Many shops were still open and the pubs were packed to overflowing. Rowdy, raucous laughter and singing emanated from their open doors.

She walked quickly along, the two hemp shopping bags over her arm, her spirits rising. This type of shopping she didn’t mind at all. They were all what she considered luxuries and the thought of the faces of her children on Christmas morning when they saw their bulging stockings and the brightly decorated kitchen and smelled the wonderful aromas of the food filled her with excitement and pleasure.

The street market was crowded. Stall-keepers shouted their wares and exchanged witty repartee with their customers, many of whom had imbibed a fair bit of Christmas spirit already. She called greetings to the women she knew and some she didn’t as she weaved her way between the stalls. At knock-down prices she bought a pair of chickens, potatoes, carrots and sprouts. Apples and oranges. Butter, thick slices of fruit cake, the pieces of salt fish that would have to be soaked overnight to be fried the next morning for breakfast. For a penny she got a big bunch of holly and for another penny some red and green crêpe paper chains to decorate the kitchen. From a stall that sold hand-knitted articles of clothing country women had made in their homes she bought a pair of woollen mittens for Maggie.

Finally she made her way to the large covered market at the top of Banastre Street. Officially it was called St Martin’s Market but it was known worldwide as Paddy’s Market. Here everything was sold but people came particularly for the second-hand clothes. It was much frequented by the sailors from the ships in the docks and every language in the world could be heard. She frequently said it was a veritable tower of Babel.

She rummaged amongst the stalls and piles of clothes that were in heaps on the floor until she found a blue and green tartan jacket that didn’t look too worn. The woman had asked for twopence.

‘It’s not worth that! Look, there’s a rip in the sleeve. I’ll give you a penny ha’penny for it.’

‘Yer look like a woman what’s ’andy with a needle, yer can mend it. Tuppence is me price,’ the woman stated firmly. Her quick eyes had taken in Mary’s neatly mended shawl.

Mary frowned and then caught sight of a white muslin blouse. It was grubby and it too needed mending. ‘Here, I’ll give you tuppence halfpenny for the two. This is little better than a rag and it needs a good wash!’

The woman nodded. ‘All right, but they’re a bargain. A bit of a wash and a dip of starch an’ that blouse will make yer look the ’eight of fashion.’

Mary laughed. ‘It’ll take more than that to make me look like a fashionable woman. Put them in the bag, will you?’

She was tired but happy with her purchases. What a treat it would have been to have caught a tram home. Still, it was a bright night and it wouldn’t take long to walk even though she knew her arms and shoulders would be aching with the weight of her shopping by the time she reached Newsham Street.

She had reached the corner of Great Nelson Street and Scotland Road when she heard her name being shouted. She turned around. Richie Seddon was crossing the road, waving to her.

‘Hello there, Mary. You’re out late. Been snapping up the bargains then?’ He looked smart and jaunty, his cap pushed back to reveal his thick, dark wavy hair. His dark eyes were full of laughter.

‘I have indeed, Richie. Where’ve you been? Enjoying yourself ?’

‘Just for a few pints with me mates.’

‘Not with the girls?’

‘Ah, Mary, there’s no one I’ve seen who compares to you!’

‘Don’t you be giving me the soft-soap treatment, Richie! The place is full of pretty girls much younger than me and you can have your pick and you know it.’

‘What’s age got to do with it?’ He grinned. ‘Give me one of those bags, they look heavy.’

‘Won’t that spoil your image? A big strong man like you carrying a shopping bag?’

‘Who cares? Give it here.’

She handed him one of the bags. It was typical of him. He
didn’t
care what people thought of him. Frank, and for that matter most of the men she knew, wouldn’t have been seen dead carrying a shopping bag.

‘God, it weighs a ton! We’re not dragging home with the weight of these. Come on, here’s a tram.’ He took her arm and pulled her along.

‘Richie, I can’t afford the fare! I’ve spent up.’

‘I can and it beats walking.’ He pushed her onto the platform ahead of him.

The tram was already crowded and the conductor looked annoyed.

‘ ’Ere, girl, yer can’t gerron with all that ’olly! Yer’ll ’ave someone’s eye out!’

‘I’ll stand on the platform,’ Mary countered, unwilling now to give up the chance of a ride home.

‘Yer can’t. It’s against the regulations.’

‘Then we’ll go upstairs,’ Richie cried.

‘It’s full!’ the conductor snapped. He was harassed and it was nearing the end of his shift. ‘Look, mate, there’s ’alf the crew of the
Acadia
up there an’ they’re all drunk. God knows ’ow I’m goin’ ter get them all off!’

‘I don’t care if there’s the entire crew of every Cunard ship up there, we’re not getting off!’ Richie shouted.

The conductor gave up. ‘Oh, gerron then! Stand on the bloody platform if yer like, I’m past carin’! All I want ter do is gerrome ter me bed an’ that lot up there can sleep in the bloody depot fer all I care! Give us yer money.’

Richie handed over the coins and Mary laughed as he pulled a face at the back of the conductor who was bawling, ‘Gerralong in there! Move along inside! Ma, shove over in that seat, yer’re takin’ up too much space!’ This last was to a buxom Mary Ellen on her way home from selling her fruit in the city centre.

‘Don’t yer “Ma” me, yer ’ardfaced get! Too much space indeed. Yer look as if a decent meal would kill yer!’ came the hostile reply. But she moved her voluminous skirts to one side so Mary could sit down.

‘Thanks, I’m worn out,’ Mary said pleasantly.

‘Aren’t we all wore out, girl, an’ fellers think
they
’ave it ’ard! My feller will ’ave been proppin’ up the bar of the Throstle’s Nest since dinnertime. ’E’ll be flamin’ paralytic by now an’ me poor bloody feet are killin’ me! Still, I think I might join ’im!’ she finished cheerfully.

‘How about it, Mary? Fancy a port and lemon in Mary Kate’s to round off the night?’ Richie asked, referring to the Britannia pub on the corner of Alexander Pope Street.

‘Indeed not! I’d be the talk of the neighbourhood. Out drinking with a wild bachelor and me with a husband and three kids at home!’

‘Yer tell ’im, girl! These young fellers is all the same! Mind yer, ’e’s not ’alf bad-lookin’.’ Then Mary Ellen grinned. ‘Now, iffen I were younger . . .’

‘Now, Ma, you’ll have me blushing!’ Richie laughed, not in the least embarrassed by the amusement they were affording the other passengers.

‘Tharral be the day, lad! Well, ’ere’s me stop. Tarrah then,’ she announced, heaving herself to her feet as the conductor yelled out the stop.

Suddenly Mary cried out. ‘Oh, God! There’s flames coming up through the floorboards!’

‘Fred! Chuck yer tea dregs on them bloody electric leads! They’ve sparked again an’ set fire ter the boards!’ the conductor shouted down the tram to the driver. It was a common enough occurrence and usually effectively dealt with in the manner he had instructed, but sometimes it didn’t work. Then the whole tram could be lost, if the Fire Brigade didn’t get to it in time. That’s all he needed! he thought gloomily. Would this night ever end?

When they alighted from the tram Richie again relieved her of her burden and they were laughing and joking when they turned the corner and came face to face with Queenie and Nora.

‘I could ’ave done with ’im meself ter cart me own shoppin’,’ Queenie said, eyeing Richie with suspicion.

‘I’m glad I met him first then,
and
he paid the tram fare.’

‘And the ride was better than Fred Karno’s Circus!’ Richie laughed.

Nora looked with disapproval at Mary. An old, married woman carrying on like that! It was disgraceful!

‘And I won’t tell you how he suggested we finish the night!’

‘I can guess!’ Queenie snapped.

‘Now, Mrs Phelps, it was nothing like that. Just a quick port and lemon in Mary Kate’s.’

‘Can you imagine it?’ Mary rolled her eyes.

Nora’s mouth was set in a hard line. He had actually asked
her
to go for a drink with him when he’d been ignoring every effort she had made to get him to ask her out.

‘Yer got plenty of stuff I see. Is that a new jacket?’ Queenie had spotted the tartan jacket that was rolled up on the top of the bag.

‘Yes, and I got a blouse too. Real bargains. In Paddy’s Market. The jacket needs a bit of mending and a good press and the blouse wants a bit of work with the needle too, not to mention a wash and a dip in Robin starch, but they’ll do for Vi’s wedding. I’ll have to stay up half the night to get them ready though!’

‘You’ll look great in them, Mary, I’ll bet!’ Richie said.

Nora felt her cheeks burn. Oh, it just wasn’t fair! Mary would look good in them. And once Mary’s hair was all done up,
she’d
look nothing beside her, even with her new pink blouse and bit of pink ribbon for her hair. She wished now she’d chosen another colour. Pink was so . . . so babyish. Her mam hadn’t been very impressed either, saying she could have got more for her money and she should have known better than to go to René Carmichael with her outlandish prices.

‘Come on, Mam, it’s freezing standing here!’ she said primly, pulling at Queenie’s arm.

‘Goodnight. I’ll see you both tomorrow,’ Mary said, smiling.

‘Tarrah, both. Don’t you do anything I wouldn’t do, Nora!’ Richie called after the girl.

Nora gritted her teeth. Chance would be a fine thing, she thought furiously.

BOOK: Across a Summer Sea

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