Lakeland Lily (10 page)

Lily couldn’t help but smile, knowing no one would answer when he knocked. If the dratted man had called on her mam again, she hoped Hannah had done the same.

‘Hello, Lily.’

She managed a smile. She would have hated Percy Wright in any case. Local sidesman at the Methodist Chapel, his spare body, wrinkled face and high-pitched way of speaking always made it seem as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of prunes.

‘I can’t get an answer at your house. Tell your ma I’ll be back on Friday. We ain’t running a charity.’

Lily said nothing, knowing as Percy Wright did that the house could not be empty at this time of day. Hatred warred with her fear that the family was once again slipping behind with the rent. How long before they were turned out on to the street, as others had been before them?

She recalled a conversation she’d had with her mother long since. It was one winter when ice had broken the ceiling rafters in the bedroom and they were all half frozen in their beds. Lily had asked if Hannah had never yearned for something better.

‘Be thankful for what you’ve got, that’s my motto. I came here as a young bride, happy and willing to make a home for Arnie and me. He’s been a good husband, not like some who drink and gamble all their wages away. I’ve had my children here and, praise the Lord, managed to bring them all up healthy. I won’t say it’s been easy but I’ve no complaints. What more could I ask for than that?’

Lily could think of a dozen things but had the good sense not to say so, Hannah’s view of The Cobbles being entirely different from her own. ‘You could at least get the landlord to mend the roof.’

Her mother had looked away, lips tight, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing them, a familiar gesture whenever she felt uncomfortable. ‘Mr Clermont-Read is a busy man. I’m sure he has better things to concern himself with than our situation. I’ll get your father to see to it.’

Even as the young girl she’d been at the time, Lily had been aware of the sense of bitter defeat in her mother’s attitude. She could still remember the hiding behind closed curtains, the fear when someone did a moonlit flit and were never seen again. The hopelessness which Hannah concealed with a staunch pride.

How could she have forgotten? Edward Clermont-Read, landlord of The Cobbles. And Percy Wright, his ferret of an agent.

Lily didn’t move till he reached the end of Carter Street and turned into Drake Road. No wonder nothing was ever done to help the poor souls who had to live in this awful place. She strengthened her resolve to enjoy her revenge all the more. She would talk the whole thing over with Rose at the very first opportunity. Her friend would help plan a good strategy. Tugging her shawl close, Lily came to her own back door, stepped over a puddle and hurried inside. She saw at once that trouble with the rent was the least of her worries.

‘Late again, madam.’

Lily flushed with guilt as Hannah pressed a hand to her back, a gesture indicating her very deep weariness, then burst into a fit of coughing.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Where’ve you been? I wish I knew what you got up to half the time while I’m trying to make ends meet.’ Hannah lifted the tin laden-can full of hot water from the kitchen range and Lily ran to help. She’d forgotten it was bath night. The girls, Hannah and herself always took theirs on a Wednesday; the boys and Arnie on Fridays.

‘Here, let me bath our Kitty. You look worn out, Mam. Go on, put your feet up for a bit.’

Hannah had never felt more peculiar in all her life, but hated to confess it. Weakness was a sin in her book.

‘When have I time to put me feet up?’

Lily would take no arguments. She sat her mother down with a mug of hot, sweet tea and then went in search of her three grubby sisters.

Four-year-old Kitty was first, giggling infectiously as she scampered to escape Lily’s ministrations.

‘I don’t want me hair washed. The soap stings me eyes. Oh don’t, our Lily!’

Laughing, Lily caught her, and once the squirming infant was safely seated in the zinc bath tub before the fire, scrubbed her from top to toe with red carbolic soap and a soft flannel. The child’s hair was washed with the same soap and combed with a fine tooth comb afterwards.

‘Ow, you’re hurting me.’

‘You don’t want no biddies in your hair, do you?’

Hannah leaned back in her chair with a thankful sigh. ‘Ee, Lily, what would I do without you, girl? I’ve no energy for this lot tonight.’ But she was aware that she still hadn’t received an answer to her question.

‘Are you going to tell me then?’

‘Tell you what?’ Lily chased a giggling eight-year-old Emma around the kitchen table, captured her and set about scrubbing her in the same manner.

‘You know full well. Where is it you go off to whenever my back is turned? Got a new boy friend, eh?’ Hannah smiled as she sipped her tea, sincerely hoping that it were true. For there was nothing she’d like better than to see her lovely daughter wed to a fine young chap.

‘Don’t start, Mam.’

‘Why won’t you tell me?’

‘There’s naught to tell.’

A screech from Emma as Kitty aimed a swipe at her sister with the flannel brought Lily’s attention back to the task in hand. Later, while Liza took her turn in the bath, old enough at ten to wash herself, Lily dried the two younger ones and dressed them in their nighties, set warming by the fire. Made from old flour sacks they might be and, if you looked closely, still bearing the imprint of the maker’s name, yet they’d been washed so often they were soft and warm to wear.

‘You’d say if there were?’ Hannah persisted, her eyes half closed, watching the proceedings as she lay back, trying to relax.

Lily glanced at her mother, thought how pale she looked, how exhausted so much of the time. For all Lily loved her sisters and brothers, she really didn’t wonder at it. Hannah never stopped for a minute, not from dawn when she got up to make breakfast for them all to the moment she fell back into bed at night after a long day of cooking, washing and ironing. And that was on top of minding the fish stall. Which only made Lily even more determined not to end up the same way.

‘I’ve told you, I mean to have me own business one day. Something grand in Carndale Road happen, or even Bowness or Windermere. I stand by that.’

Hannah’s eyes opened wide, and pride mingling with concern softened the next, seemingly harsh, words. ‘Ee, Lily, don’t talk so soft. Dreams are dangerous things. Give up with ‘em, lass. They’ll only make you dissatisfied with life as it really is.’

‘They give me hope.’ She turned to her sisters who were rolling together on the rug like a pair of puppies. ‘Come on, you two, time for your dose of sulphur and treacle to keep your innards clean.’ Despite more groans, this was eventually achieved, followed by a mug of hot tea and slice of bread with a scrape of dripping by way of supper for each girl.

After she’d got them to bed, Lily and Hannah both took turns in the bath, a hasty all-over wash before the water went cold.

Then Lily ladled out the zinc bath tub and hung it back on the yard wall. But there was still work to be done, and tired though she may be, she worked extra hard to catch up on her missed chores, making sure that Hannah rested some more.

She scoured out the swill baskets which were used to hold the fish, and set them to dry. Then she boiled kettles and prepared the men-folk’s supper almost single-handed. Her father would be tired from working on the boats all day, aided or rather hindered by his two sons, and yet he would still go out on his night fishing.

Considering she’d sat still long enough, Hannah set about wiping the cottage down with damp cloths, as if it weren’t already clean enough. She swept the floors, shook the hookie rug, wiped down the range and polished the brass fittings with pride, bringing it to that pristine cleanliness which could only be achieved by constant and daily attention.

Lastly Hannah wiped away the black mould which clung to the walls, knowing it would be back again the next day.

‘The worst thing about housework is that it’ll all have to be done again tomorrow.’ She laughed, but it sounded forced, even to her own ears.

After watching her for a while, noting the lines of strain at the corners of her mouth, Lily took hold of her mother’s arm and gently shook her. ‘I told you to sit down and put your feet up.’

‘I’ve had ‘em up.’

‘Why don’t you have your supper now, Mam, then go on up to bed? I’ll see to me dad and the boys.’

Hannah stared at her daughter as if she’d gone mad. She couldn’t remember ever going early to bed in her life. ‘Ee, I can’t, our Lily, much as I might like to. I have to finish up in here. Needs must when the devil drives.’ And shaking scouring powder all over the sloping wooden draining board, she began to scrub. As she did so, a cockroach ran across it and she captured it in her cloth to toss it into the fire where it hissed and cracked. Lily shuddered.

‘God almighty, I wish we were out of this stinking hole.’

‘Lily! I’ll thank you to keep a clean tongue in your head or I’ll wash your mouth out with this carbolic.’ Stiff-backed, Hannah wiped her hands on the sacking apron that covered her black dress. In all Lily’s seventeen years, she’d never seen her mother wear anything else, save for Sundays when she put on her ‘best’ coat and hat in a rather dull olive green.

At last satisfied with the state of her sink, Hannah crossed the small living-kitchen and taking a candle from the hook on the end of the mantle-shelf, lit it from a taper and disappeared into the dark scullery hole under the stairs. This was the place where the family washing was done. It had one small window looking out on to the backyard, and its stone floor was often littered with earthenware bowls full of clothes left to soak, so they’d be easier to rinse out when Monday came round.

Stifling a sigh Lily reached for the bread knife and started to hack the loaf into huge doorsteps, thick enough to please her greedy brothers. Then she set the soup to warm and gently stirred it, her mind replaying the kiss Bertie had given her. Where would it all lead? And what would her mother say, if she knew?

‘Will you hand me the dolly blue, Lily?’

‘You’re surely not going to start washing now, not at this time of night?’ The idea wasn’t too far-fetched, though Hannah had such a fetish for cleanliness and ‘getting things done’ as she called it, that it was not unknown for her husband to return from a bit of crack with the lads to find his wife still washing or ironing at close on midnight. When her mother did not come back at her with her usual biting response, Lily said no more. She’d lost this particular argument too many times to try. Then the sound of a crash made her drop the soup spoon and sent her running into the depths of the scullery-hole.

‘What is it, Mam? Have you hurt yourself?’

Hannah was sitting on the floor in the gloomy half darkness holding her head, her face a mask of pain. ‘It’s all right, don’t take on. I banged me head on that low beam, that’s all. You’d think I’d know it was there, wouldn’t you? After all these years.’

The beam in question was at an angle on the side wall, some distance from the sink where Hannah was working. ‘How did you manage to hit it?’

‘I don’t know, do I? Must have lost me balance. I’ve not been right since I had that cold. Can’t get rid of this cough, I can’t.’ The cough started up again just as the back door sneck rattled and both women looked at each other as they heard the tread of men’s boots. ‘Help me up quick, your father mustn’t find me like this. He’ll never let me hear the last of it.’

As both women emerged from beneath the stairs into the light and warmth of the kitchen they saw that Arnie was not alone.

‘I’ve fetched a mate to take supper wi’ us. We can stretch to another mouth, I suppose?’

‘Aye,’ said Hannah at once, and hurried to examine the contents of the soup pan, hoping Arnie wouldn’t see the flash of worry which must have come into her eyes. There’d be just enough if she didn’t have any herself. Then Lily’s voice hissed against her ear, ‘I’m not hungry, Mam. Sit yourself down.’

‘Why choose today to bring home one of his lame ducks?’

Lily smiled, for nothing would prevent Arnie setting out to help all and sundry. He’d give the coat off his back if someone asked for it. She squeezed her mother’s hand in sympathy and urged her towards the table. ‘Go and talk to him. I’ll serve and say I’ve eaten with the girls.’

‘But...’

‘Do it.’

For once Hannah did as she was bid. If she’d felt a bit queer before she’d put those tea cloths to soak, she felt a whole lot worse now. Her chest felt on fire. A bowl of hot soup would set her up a treat, so she accepted it gratefully.

After she’d served her mother, Lily turned enquiring eyes to the visitor, now helping himself to a slice of bread without even being asked. Surreptitiously she studied his profile. Dark and unshaven he wasn’t too bad-looking, if you didn’t object to a slightly crooked nose and the most glowering brows she had ever seen. He smelled clean enough though, she thought, with some relief. Not all Arnie’s friends were so particular. This man smelled of fresh air, tar, and some indefinable masculine tang which wasn’t in the least unpleasant. But then as she handed him a bowl of soup he turned to offer his thanks and she saw him full face.