Love Changes Everything (8 page)

She desperately wanted to talk to Ivy about it and see if she could think of a way for her to refuse to do it without getting Fred's back up. Whatever happened she knew she mustn't do that in case she jeopardised her job; her father would kill her if she got the sack.

When she had mentioned to her mother the fact that Fred had said that there was going to be a deduction from their wage packets each week Maggie had looked dismayed.

‘Don't mention anything about it to your father, not till you're quite sure it's going to happen,' she cautioned. ‘You never know, he may have been just sounding you all out to see if everyone was in favour of the idea.'

‘A lot of them aren't,' Trixie admitted. ‘Some of the women seemed to be dead against the idea.'

‘That's because they probably need every halfpenny they earn for something or other to keep their family going.' She sighed. ‘Why else would they be working in a place like that if they didn't need the money?'

‘No, you're probably right, mum. Some of them are probably no better off than we are.'

‘A lot worse off, in all probability,' her mother agreed. ‘Most things, from coal to bread, seem to be going up in price; everything, that is, except wages.'

Now, Trixie reflected, she was not only going to have to tell her mum that there definitely would be a deduction, but also break the news that she was going to be the one looking after all the money.

Her mother looked as concerned as she was. ‘It's not right, expecting a young girl like you to be accountable for other people's money. One of the clerks from the office should be responsible for that sort of thing, not someone on the assembly line. I wonder how Fred Linacre can manage to get away with such an idea.'

‘I'm wondering what Dad is going to say. I suppose I ought to tell him before that Fred does, otherwise he'll think I've been holding out on him.'

‘The best thing to do is to wait till he comes in from the pub tonight. He should be in a good mood by then, and if you tell him about it while he's eating his supper, you can go straight off to bed so there won't be time for any arguments,' Maggie advised. ‘I still think you're far too young to have a burden like this placed on your shoulders and I can't understand what this Fred is thinking about,' her mother said over and over again.

‘Oh, I know what he's up to,' Trixie told her bitterly. ‘He's hoping I'll make a mess of the whole thing and then he'll have something else to taunt me about.'

‘I don't understand why he's taken against you like this in the first place. It's all very strange because your dad claimed that he was a good friend of his.'

When Sam walked in the door just after ten o'clock that night his first words stunned them both. ‘What's this I hear about you from Fred Linacre, then?' he demanded. ‘He tells me that everyone is putting sixpence a week away for Christmas and that you're the one in charge of all the money?'

‘Yes, Dad, that's right. I've waited up so that I could tell you about it.'

‘Right fool I looked when he spouted it out and I didn't know a damn thing about it.' He grabbed hold of Trixie by the shoulder and shook her hard. ‘Why the hell didn't you tell me about what was going on?'

‘I was going to do so if you gave me a chance,' she retaliated, her eyes filling with tears of pain. ‘Why do you think I've waited up till now?'

‘Don't you answer me back, my girl!' Sam thundered. ‘You might be able to cheek Fred, but don't you give me any of your lip here at home, not with me, at any rate, or you'll find the back of my hand across your face.'

‘For heaven's sake, Sam, stop shouting at the girl. She only knew today about what was happening and, as she's just told you, she's stayed up so that she could tell you all about it the minute she saw you,' Maggie protested.

‘You get into the kitchen and make my supper and keep out of this. I'm talking to her, not to you.'

‘Your supper's ready, I'll bring it in right away. Do you want some pickle on your bread and cheese, Sam?' Maggie asked quietly, hoping to divert some of his anger away from Trixie.

‘Haven't you any bloody meat?' he demanded angrily. ‘How do you expect a man to do a labouring job on bread and cheese?'

‘It's what you usually have for your supper and there's nothing else,' she told him mildly.

‘Spent it all on fancy foods for that snivelling little brat, I suppose,' he roared as Cilla, disturbed by all the noise, began crying. ‘About time you stopped pandering to her and packed her off to school like any other kid of her age.'

Trixie pulled away from her father's grip and made for the door. ‘I'll go and see to her,' she offered.

‘Come back here, I'm talking to you,' her father demanded. Reaching out he grabbed her hair, pulling on it so hard that she screamed with pain. ‘Now then, spit it out, what's all this bloody nonsense about you being trusted with the money the other women at the factory are saving up for Christmas?'

He listened in silence, apart from the occasional drunken belch, as Trixie did her best to explain about the savings scheme and that she would be responsible for looking after the money that the women on the assembly line had deducted from their wage packet each week.

‘Bloody silly idea, if you ask me,' he muttered when she'd finished. ‘Especially letting a kid like you look after it.' He looked thoughtful for a moment, then a gleam came into his sharp eyes. ‘You'd best hand it over to me each week and I'll take care of it till you have to pay it back to them in December.'

Trixie looked worried and bit her lip. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She was pretty sure that if she handed it over to him then he'd be straight down to the boozer spending it. He'd be showing off and paying for pints for anyone in the bar who would raise a glass with him.

For a fleeting moment she wondered if this was what Fred Linacre had had in mind when he decided to make her treasurer. If he knew her dad as well as he was supposed to, then perhaps he was deliberately doing it to needle him and get her into trouble, though she couldn't understand why.

She squared her shoulders and was about to say that whatever happened it was the last thing she'd do when she saw her mother looking at her and shaking her head, an anxious look on her face.

‘I'll have to think about that and see what Fred Linacre thinks of the idea,' she hedged.

‘What's it bloody well got to do with him? Stand on your own two feet, my girl, that's what he expects. That's why he's given you this job. He's testing you.'

Trixie didn't know what to say. She had no intention of trusting her father with the savings money, but she didn't know how to tell him that, or, for that matter, what she was going to do with it. If she brought it home, then no matter how carefully she hid it away, he'd be bound to find it. Yet what else could she do with it? she asked herself. She couldn't leave it lying around at work and she didn't think that Fred Linacre would be prepared to look after it for her.

It was a problem that kept Trixie awake most of the night. By morning she still hadn't thought of a solution and on the way to work she asked Ivy what she would do in her shoes or if she could think of any way of getting out of it.

‘I don't think you can, not without upsetting Fred.'

‘I suppose I'll have to do it even though hardly any of the women seem to want me to be the one looking after their dosh,' Trixie said gloomily. ‘It's where I'm going to keep it that worries me, so if you get any bright ideas then let me know.'

‘Tell you what, when you bring Cilla round on Saturday to see my mum, why don't you ask her?' Ivy suggested as they parted outside the factory gates.

‘Why don't you ask her then she'll have time to think about it and I'll keep my fingers crossed that she'll come up with a solution, because I'm worried silly about it,' Trixie called after her.

Chapter Seven

‘Don't forget when you bring Cilla round this afternoon to ask my mum what she thinks you should do with the money,' Ivy reminded Trixie as they left the factory on Saturday at midday. ‘By the way, what have you done with it in the meantime?'

‘Tied it up in my hanky and put it down the front of my blouse,' Trixie told her, patting her chest.

‘So what are you going to tell your dad if he asks you where it is?'

‘I'm hoping to be out of the house and on my way to see you before he gets home.' Trixie grinned.

She would have managed it, she reflected later, if she hadn't stopped to change into a clean blouse.

‘Well, come on then, girl, where's all the money that Fred handed over to you for safe keeping?' her dad greeted her as she came out of the bedroom.

For a moment she was too taken aback to answer. She'd been thinking about it, ever since Fred Linacre had handed her the pile of sixpences and warned her to ‘guard them with her life'.

She knew he was being sarcastic but his words had left her shaking. It was such a responsibility. Ten shillings was quite a bit more than she received in wages each week and she couldn't help thinking about all the wonderful things that she could buy with it if it had been hers to keep.

Out of the corner of her eye Trixie saw that her mother had come into the room carrying Cilla dressed ready to go out. She hoped she wouldn't try to interfere because she was sure it would make things worse.

She'd thought of saying that Fred had it but that was rather risky as her dad was cunning enough to ask Fred and if he found out she'd been lying then he'd belt her, there was no doubt about that, and Fred would also know that she told lies.

When she'd changed blouses she'd made sure it was still safely stored there and now, as she faced her dad, she was scared in case his sharp eyes could see the bulge it was making.

‘I'm in a hurry, I promised to meet a friend at three o'clock,' she prevaricated as she reached towards the clothes horse for the piece of old sheeting that they used to cover the faded mattress in the pram. She'd washed it out the night before. She'd intended to iron it but it was too late for that now, and if she stretched it really tight over the mattress she hoped that would get rid of the creases.

‘Stop fiddling about and listen when I'm talking to you,' her father growled, snatching the piece of cloth out of her hands. His face was thunderous and she backed away from the overpowering smell of beer and cigarettes that enveloped her as he spoke. ‘Where's the bloody money? I told you I'd look after it!'

‘I know you did, Dad, but I think Fred expected me to do it myself,' she said quietly. ‘Like you said when I told you about it, he's probably testing me out to see if I can do it, and for your sake, I don't want to let him down.'

Sam Jackson's eyes narrowed. ‘You taking the bloody mickey, my girl?'

‘It is what you said, Sam,' Maggie Jackson said quickly. ‘Give her a chance to see if she can do it, then if she can't, I'm sure she'll ask you for help. That's right, isn't it, luv?'

‘Yes, Mum, that's right,' Trixie agreed, taking a deep breath, crossing her fingers and silently praying that her father would accept what her mum had said.

There was an ominous silence. Sam Jackson slumped down into his armchair obviously too drunk to think clearly. He was still holding the piece of sheeting in his hand and she decided she daren't risk asking him for it or taking if off him so she quickly turned the mattress over, hoping that the underside might be less grubby, and strapped Cilla in. She didn't stop to put on her own hat and coat but slung them over the handle of the pram as she bumped it over the doorstep and fled down the street before he could speak again.

She knew she would have to face him when she came home but perhaps by then, she thought hopefully, she might have some sort of solution, although whether he would go along with it was another matter. Whatever happened, she was determined not to let him get his hands on the money.

Ella and Ivy were waiting for them and Ella's face lit up the moment she saw Cilla. ‘Come along, then, leave the pram here in the passageway and I'll take the little darlin' into the living room,' she greeted her eagerly. ‘Come along in and sit yourself down; I've a cup of tea all ready to be poured,' she added with a warm, friendly smile.

The minute Trixie unstrapped Cilla and lifted her out of the pram she'd held out her hand to Ella and toddled off into the living room alongside her with the utmost confidence, not even looking over her shoulder to see if Trixie was following them.

Ella had already spread a blanket on the floor for Cilla to sit on while she drank the mug of milk and ate the two biscuits she had waiting for her.

‘Don't you worry about her,' she told Trixie, ‘you sit back and enjoy your cuppa. If she does make any crumbs or spill her milk it won't matter a jot.'

Trixie relaxed as she always did when she came to the O'Malleys' and looked round the room appreciatively. It was not only bigger but, even though everything in it was a trifle shabby, it was also far better furnished than their place in Virgil Street.

There was an armchair on either side of the fireplace as well as a sofa pushed up against the far wall. In the centre of the room was a square table covered with a red chenille cloth and a white runner on top of that with a heavy ornamental statue placed in the centre of it.

On the mantelpiece were several photographs: one was of a heavily built man, whom she assumed was Mr O'Malley, holding a tiny baby in his arms, and then there were several others of the child at different ages. The last one, in a very ornate frame, had been taken when the little girl looked to be about four years old and remembering what Ivy had told her, she assumed it was just before the accident had happened.