Our Lizzie (11 page)

Lizzie, who had been run off her feet at Dearden's where she was working full-time over the holidays, was glad to sit quietly once the special dinner had been served—a lovely roast chicken their Percy had brought home. Mrs. D had given her a box of chocolates, one with the corner bashed in, but she didn't show it to her mam or the chocolates would have vanished into the sideboard to be kept for guests and she'd be lucky to get any of them for herself. She waited until everyone had gathered in the front room, opened the box in the kitchen, selected a couple of her favourites and ate them slowly, with great relish. Only then did she take the box in to hand round.

Mam glared at her, of course. “Where did you get those?”

“Mrs. D gave them me for a Christmas present. She gave us all something.”

“You didn't have to open them, though.”

“The box was already broken in one corner.”

“We could still have kept them for guests.”

Lizzie swelled with indignation. “We never have any guests. And anyway, the chocolates are
mine
.”

“You mind how you talk to me, young woman, or you'll go up to bed, Christmas or no Christmas.”

Percy stepped in yet again to keep the peace and saw Miss Emma looking at him sympathetically from across the fireplace. Even the lodgers couldn't help noticing how down Mam was on her eldest daughter sometimes. Well, everyone in the street knew that. “Let her eat her chocolates, Mam. It is Christmas and they were her present. It's kind of her to bring them in and share them.”

Meg looked sour. “They're opened now, anyway.”

Lizzie tossed her head and took another chocolate, cramming it into her mouth before offering the box to her mother—who took the two biggest!—then offering the box round.

For the first time, as they were all sitting there lazily in front of the fire, talking of this and that, Lizzie found herself really talking to Miss Emma, who asked her what it was like to work in the shop.

“It's lovely. Ever so interesting. Of course, I don't serve in the shop most of the time. I work in the packing area because stuff comes in big crates and boxes, an' we have to pack it in small amounts ready for selling. Mr. Dearden,” whose name nobody shortened, for some strange reason, “goes round to the big houses in the pony trap for the orders, all dressed up smart. An' he sees the trade reps, too, though Peter sees some of them now. An' I have to make tea for everyone—the fellows in the stables as well—an' go across to the baker's for our buns in the morning. Oh, there's always somethin' needs doing. But we've been a bit busy this week, I can tell you, so I've helped out in the shop an' we've had to stay back some nights to stock the shelves. On Saturday we didn't close till after ten.” Lizzie thought about that. “I like it when we're busy, though.”

“I like to keep busy, too. I'm going to take a commercial course after Christmas and then find myself a job, so that'll make two of us women working.” Emma smiled at the child, who always looked so sullen and unhappy, and was delighted to win a hesitant smile back from her.

“What do you do on a commercial course?”

“Don't pester Miss Emma with stupid questions!” Meg snapped from the end of the sofa.

Tears came into Lizzie's eyes again, and she stared down at the chocolates, which suddenly tasted like cardboard.

Not until Percy had got his mother talking did Emma say quietly, “I'm going to study typing and bookkeeping and things like that, so that I can work in an office. I went to pay for my lessons this week and I'll be starting in the New Year.” She chuckled. “I'll be the oldest student by far.”

Lizzie took another chocolate and offered the box to Polly, sitting quietly on the rug at her feet. “I didn't know ladies went out to work.”

“They do if they need to earn some money.”

Lizzie saw her mother frowning at her again and slumped down on the couch.

Emma closed her eyes and prayed for patience. When the chocolates were finished, she fumbled in her pocket and produced a paper bag of caramels. Two bags in one week—of such things were her Christmases made now. This was her one remaining extravagance. She went into Dearden's specially to buy them, and had seen for herself how happy Lizzie looked there and how even the grumpiest of customers would be drawn into a shared smile or two as the smallest assistant bustled round, helping the seniors and opening the door for customers with an air of triumph as if she had accomplished something marvellous. But Lizzie looked very different at home, really downtrodden.

Later on, Blanche roused herself to lead them in singing carols.

Lizzie joined in the general chorus and smiled at Polly, who loved to sing—though her mam didn't like them singing round the house since Dad had died. Miss Harper was doing the descant while Polly's voice led the rest in the tune, and it sounded really nice.

It was strange that Miss Harper had such a lovely voice, because nothing else about her was lovely. She was so thin she looked as if underneath she was made of sticks with no flesh on. She had started going to church with them and had joined the choir there. Lizzie loved listening to her sing, which she did sometimes on special occasions like this evening, though she always said it'd be better if she had a piano accompaniment. They'd had to sell theirs when their father died.

Horrid things happened to everyone, it seemed, when their fathers died, Lizzie had decided, not just to her and her family. She found that thought vaguely comforting.

To Polly, watching everything as she always did, the singing was the best part of Christmas and it also stopped Mam from scolding Lizzie.

“Your voice is developing very nicely, Polly,” Miss Harper said after one song. “You'll have a lovely voice when you grow up.”

Polly treasured that compliment. It wasn't often anyone praised her. She loved singing, but not like they did it at Sunday School. The mixed-up noises the other children made there hurt your ears. Why couldn't they hear the right notes?

Meg muttered that nice voices didn't earn you your daily bread, but no one paid any attention to that.

Polly nudged her sister's leg and winked.

Lizzie stared down at her for a moment, then smiled. Her little sister was a great comfort to her lately.

As if she knew that Lizzie was thinking about her, Mam looked across the room. “I think we could all do with a nice cup of tea.” There was a chorus of agreement. “Lizzie, go and put the kettle on and get the tea things out.”

“Why can't Eva do it? Me an' Polly did the washing up.”

Eva began to get up, but Mam snapped, “Stay there! An' you can just stop cheeking me, Lizzie Kershaw. You act like a baby sometimes, not a big girl of nearly thirteen.”

Lizzie dragged herself to her feet, feeling left out again.

Then the kitchen door opened. “I'll help you, shall I?” said Polly.

“Thanks.” Lizzie felt better not being on her own. She started telling Polly about the decorations in Mrs. D's sitting room upstairs and the huge pile of presents on the sideboard there for the family. No one in Bobbin Lane had decorations like that, so bright and beautiful, or so many presents.

*   *   *

Shortly after Christmas, Sam was drinking in the Carter's Rest one night when his friend Josh murmured, “Fancy earning a bit extra tonight?”

“I allus fancy earning a bit extra. What's the job?”

Josh winked. “Tell you later. Don't drink too much. You'll need your wits about you.”

At closing time they left together, with Josh explaining in a low voice what he'd noticed. They called in at his place to get his special tools. His wife and children were in bed already. Sam waited in the kitchen, staring round in disgust. She was a slattern, that Dora. He'd not put up with this sort of thing. Even Gran managed better. And the whole place smelled sour. He was glad to get out into the fresh air again.

When they got to the warehouse, it looked deserted. The office window at the side was, as Josh had said, a bit loose. It was the work of a moment to jemmy it open and climb inside.

Sam felt alert and excited, enjoying this as he hadn't enjoyed anything for a while. He'd never have thought of doing a warehouse but as Josh said there was some good stuff stored here.

It was as they were carrying it back to the office that they bumped into the watchman. It happened so quickly that Sam was caught off guard for a moment, but Josh lashed out with his jemmy and the old fellow toppled with only a gurgle of protest.

“Hell! You didn't tell me they had someone keeping watch!” Sam snapped.

“I didn't bloody know, did I?”

“We'll have to be a damn sight more careful next time.”

And they were.

It was a pity the old fellow died, but at least it meant he couldn't identify them. They didn't do any more jobs till all the fuss had settled down, but the stuff they'd taken brought in a nice bit of cash.

*   *   *

The week after Lizzie turned thirteen, Sam found a piano going cheap and offered it to the two ladies. After much anxious thought, Miss Harper asked if she could put it in the front room so that she could offer singing lessons. She'd pay extra for using the room and to make up for the noise.

Meg brightened and said yes at once, wondering how much extra she could charge.

“I won't take a lot of pupils, just a few, but it will help pay for the piano. And it'll give me an interest.” You could grow tired of reading library books and sewing.

In fact, there was soon a trail of children coming for lessons, girls mostly, from higher up the hill. Folk up there weren't finding times as hard as people in the Southlea district.

Meg didn't mind the noise, because Miss Harper played the piano so beautifully and she seemed to have a gift for teaching the girls to sing nicely. When the lodger offered to teach Polly for free, as well, saying again that the child had a lovely voice, Meg hesitated and consulted Percy. But he said why not, so she agreed to the lessons. Singing wouldn't bring in any more money, but it wouldn't cost anything, either—unlike this daft idea of Eva's going to secondary school, which Meg did not favour at all but which Percy was proving really stubborn about. She didn't know what had got into him lately, she really didn't.

*   *   *

Polly now helped Lizzie out with the jobs round the house whenever she could. The two of them would chat as they worked and that seemed to get things done faster. She'd teach Lizzie the words of some of her songs and they'd sing them together, though only quietly, so as not to upset Mam. And they knew a few music hall songs, too, though Miss Harper hadn't taught them those and some of the words were a bit cheeky.

She was, Polly felt, getting to be quite good friends with her big sister now. Before Dad died, Lizzie had been more friendly with Eva, but nowadays she either had her head in a book or was round at her teacher's “helping out.”

After a week of worrying about Lizzie and thinking the situation over carefully, Polly got up one evening after tea and started doing the dishes in the scullery, setting the enamel washing-up bowl in the big, shallow slopstone, and pouring the hot water into it carefully from the kettle so that she wouldn't splash herself or spill any on the floor.

“What do you think you're doing?” a voice shouted suddenly in her ear.

The plate Polly was holding fell back into the soapy water, but fortunately didn't break. “I'm doing the dishes, Mam.”

“What's the point of doing the dishes when your sister hasn't eaten yet?”

“Lizzie's tired when she comes home after work. She can wash her own things up then. And I don't mind doing the dishes, really I don't.”

“Well, I mind, so you can just leave them be. Lizzie will do them after she's eaten. If she makes extra work, it's only right that she clears it up.”

Polly stood stock still, frightened at the words that were forming inside her head. But for once, they wouldn't be held back. “It isn't fair of you to make her do all the washing up. An' I—”

Meg gasped in outrage and slapped Polly on the side of her head, then cracked her again on the other side as well.

Polly wailed loudly and this time she knocked a plate off the wooden draining board and it shattered on the slopstone.

“Look what you've done now!” Meg shrieked, for the lodgers were safely up in the attic after tea. “You can just clear that mess up and then do as you're told and leave this for your sister! I get no respect since your father died, none at all, and I'm
not having it!
” Another slap made Polly cry out again. “If you've nothing better to do with yourself, there's plenty of mending in the basket.”

Percy's voice made them both jump. “What's the matter, Mam?” He couldn't remember anyone ever having to shout at Polly like this, for she was always so quiet and eager to please, more like a little ghost round the house, he sometimes thought, though she was a bit plump for a ghost.

Meg turned to him. “Our Lizzie's got Polly doing her chores for her now. I don't know how she managed that. And when I told this one to leave things for her sister, she answered me back. I'm not having that from any of them.” It had become a point of honour to her since Stanley's death to keep control of her children.

Polly stopped sobbing and in the heat of the moment allowed more words to escape. “It's not fair, leaving the whole day's dishes for Lizzie to do. She's tired when she comes home. And she didn't
make
me wash up. I
wanted
to do it, to help her.”

“Well, listen to that!” Meg moved forward again, hand upraised.

Polly ducked, clutching her reddened cheek with one soapy hand and continuing to sob.

Percy grabbed his mother's hand and stepped between them. “Leave her to me, Mam. You're tired out. Why don't you go and have a sit-down, eh?”