Polly's Pride (20 page)

No sooner had Polly finished congratulating herself on successfully agreeing a knock-down price for the cinema carpet, than it occurred to her it would be far too large to fit into her parlour. Even rolled up at its tightest she’d be lucky to get it through the door.

‘What d’you reckon I should do?’ she asked a frowning Eileen.

‘Nay, don’t ask me.’

If only she could talk through her problems with Matthew. Perhaps if he saw real signs of her being a success, he’d come back home, even though they were again sitting on orange boxes. But somehow Polly couldn’t quite pluck up the courage. Not until she’d solved the problem of where to put this new acquisition which represented a considerable investment. She couldn’t even have it collected until she’d sorted that out.

‘What’ll I do?’ she mourned to Lucy, when her daughter came wearily home from the market stall the night following its purchase.

Lucy, who was already beginning to regret taking on the job with Dorrie Hughes, was keen for her mother to get the carpet business going, then she might escape the tripe stall. She didn’t mind cutting up the stuff, or dealing with the trotters, but she was also expected to help prepare and cook the black puddings, which she didn’t enjoy one bit. Mixing the groats, fat, herbs and onions into all that blood simply made her feel sick. She used to love black pudding with a dab of mustard; now she couldn’t stand the sight or smell of one.

Sometimes it was difficult treading a diplomatic line between her parents but since the damage was done and the furniture gone, they might as well have a go at making things work. She sympathised with her father but at the same time understood what Polly was trying to do. Lucy understood about dreams. Her own job on the market stall was a far cry from her ambition to sell frocks in Paulden’s or one of the fancy shops in King Street. Oh, she’d be glad enough to do something different. It was thinking of Paulden’s which gave her the answer.

‘Why don’t you take on a shop, Mam? It’s all right is the barrow, but you’ll never make much out of that on its own. True, Dorrie Hughes has barrows and market stalls all over the place. But she doesn’t make a fortune, and it’s hard work being out in all weathers, and not so good for carpets when it rains as it is for black puddings.’

Polly looked at her daughter with new eyes, her mouth falling open in delighted surprise. ‘Wasn’t I blessed with wonderfully clever children? Ye never cease to amaze me, either of you. First Benny finds me this wonderful cinema carpet, and then you come up with a way to deal with it. Sure and I think you’re all marvellous.’ And to Lucy’s great embarrassment, Polly showered her face with kisses. She was soft that way, was her mam. Even so Lucy was laughing by the time Polly had found her shawl, babbling on about what they could find for their dinner while already halfway to the door. ‘Ye don’t mind, do you, if I go and make a few enquiries?’

‘Get away with you,’ Lucy laughed, waving her on her way, used to her mother always acting impulsively, with not a scrap of patience to wait for anything. ‘We’ll manage. Have you told Dad about the cinema carpet?’ But her words were lost in the slamming of the front door. Shaking her head with fond disbelief at the stubbornness of adults, Lucy went to examine the stock pot.

Polly had indeed heard her daughter’s advice, and decided that perhaps she should heed it and call in at number thirty-one this minute to tell Matthew all about the carpet and her plans for a shop. Wouldn’t that be grand? Perhaps he would come and help her run it.

Big Flo informed her that both men were out and about on business, and what was Polly doing wandering about the streets after dusk? She made some excuse and hurried away, not wanting to become embroiled in an argument with her mother-in-law.

Her next stop was at ‘Uncle’ Joseph’s, where they sat for some time discussing the progress and difficulties of Polly’s business, the old man watching her pensively over the tips of his fingers, listening to the excitement in her voice as she outlined her latest plans.

When she had done, he told her of a vacant shop on Ancoats Lane which he thought might serve her purpose very well. Polly became so excited she would have gone to see it there and then had he not insisted on a more sensible time the following day, even though she hadn’t entirely solved the problem of how to finance the carpet.

‘And you can manage all of this?’ he politely enquired.
 

‘If you’d buy my things off me again,’ she pleaded.

Joseph sighed. ‘It would be difficult to refuse my favourite customer. But I ask myself where this is all leading, Polly? Matthew didn’t seem a happy man when I saw him last.’

She wanted to ask where and when Joseph had seen him, if Matthew had looked well and whether he was finding any work, but dare not put her longing into words in case her emotions should get the better of her. Best to remain practical and businesslike with the little pawnbroker. ‘That will all change when he sees I’m making a success of the business.’

‘You take too many risks, Polly.’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Seems to me that’s the only way to survive.’

Joseph ran his tongue over his teeth while he considered her answer. ‘How can you keep on selling your furniture?’

‘I must use what I have.’

‘But will it be enough?’

She knew that whatever sum he agreed to loan her, it would be woefully short. ‘Give me a few days and I’ll find the rest. Enough for the carpet and for a deposit on the shop. We still have some carpet pieces to sell.’

‘What if I agree to this plan and you manage to acquire this shop, what then?’

‘I will use it to expand my business. First to cut up the cinema carpet into good-sized pieces to sell.’ Polly was leaning forward, keen to convince him. She had not missed the caution in the old man’s voice. He had said it would be difficult to refuse her, his favourite customer, but he still might, so she was anxious to win him over. ‘With more space I can make real progress. A barrow is nowhere near big enough for what I have in mind.’

‘To make the money to buy back your furniture, you mean?’

‘Of course. and more besides.’

‘For how long, I’m thinking? Till you sell it again for more carpet?’

Polly laughed out loud this time. ‘Who can say?’

‘It is madness, I am telling myself. So why do I say yes, yes, yes, every time you ask me?’ He lifted his hands in a gesture of despair while Polly only grinned.

‘Because you, above everyone else, believe in me.’

‘Which means, I am thinking, that the pair of us need our heads examining.’

Polly chuckled delightedly and kissed him fondly on both cheeks, knowing by the light in his faded old eyes that she had won. ‘But you’ll do it?’

‘Won’t your Irish charm win me over if nothing else does?’ Joseph agreed, sighing deeply and shaking his head in fond disapproval.

As Polly headed home along Henry Street she wished Matthew could be as understanding and supportive. She reached the corner and saw a group of men gathering, and rightly guessed that yet another demonstration was being planned.

The men were lounging against the wall of the Green Dragon, though it was doubtful whether any of them could afford to go inside. To Matthew, as a teetotaller, it had never been something he missed, but to some of the other men the lack of a few coppers for a pint seemed to strike at the heart of their manhood, as if they were being deprived of their rights. She sensed their air of excitement; all conversation ceased as she approached, and she wondered why.

It was then that she saw him.

He looked so dearly familiar, so wonderfully solid and real, he seemed to fill her entire vision. It was as if he were larger than life, bigger, stronger, more handsome than she had ever properly appreciated, and her heart seemed to stop for a second before racing on at breakneck speed. She stood in front of him, feeling as fragile as a heart-struck young girl.

‘Hello, Matthew. You look well.’ Polly recalled how he had promised her that he’d take no part in any political meetings, and had felt certain he’d keep his word on that at least.

‘And yourself?’ His eyes seemed to bore into her innermost being. Polly guessed that her own must be doing much the same to him for the other men turned away, embarrassed at witnessing this awkward reunion.

‘Would you walk me home? I don’t much care for the streets after dark.’

He mumbled something about its never having bothered her before but nonetheless adjusted his cap, pushed himself away from the pub wall and nodded his farewells to his companions, seemingly content to walk along beside her. He said nothing as they made their way along Henry Street, overshadowed by the dark red brick walls of warehouses and McConnell’s Mill. She read the words over the arched entrance as they passed: James McConnell, 1788. Sandford, McConnell and Kennedy, 1791. ‘All those years,’ she said, ‘and now the mills are struggling for their very existence, some even closing.’

‘Not if
we
can prevent it.’

She stopped by the canal towpath and gently touched his arm so that he would turn
and
she could look fearfully into his face. ‘Matthew, this demonstration or whatever it
is . . .
You’ll not be on it, will you?’ Even in the poor light from the gas lamp she could see the tight set of his jaw. It was becoming a painfully familiar sight, yet still she persisted. ‘Didn’t we agree that violence was not the way?’

‘We agreed a good many things in our life together, like always talking matters through afore making a decision.’ He began to walk again and she hurried to keep pace. They crossed the bridge and threaded their way through the congested network of streets, mills and warehouses.

‘I miss you, Matthew.’

He didn’t answer. Polly swallowed the painful lump which had come into her throat and tried again. ‘I can’t seem to come to terms with life on me own. Will you not. . .’

He interrupted her, his voice harsh and accusing. ‘Where is it you’ve been at this hour? Why aren’t you at home with the childer?’

Excitement put an edge to her voice. ‘I’ve been to see Joseph. He’s told me of a shop that’s going, and I might just take
it.
I’ve no space in the house and the barrow’s too small. Sure and wouldn’t that be fine, to have a shop of me own?’ It was the wrong thing to say. She should have said
our
own. She saw at once her mistake by the way his brows met and his eyes glinted with anger.

‘You’ll have that much work soon you won’t even notice your husband’s no longer around.’ But as he turned away she grasped his arm and put her hand to his face, fingers cupping his cheek.

‘Don’t be angry, Matthew. Be pleased for me. For
us
. I love you. I need you home. I want you to share this new business with me. Why won’t you?’

‘You want me to work for my own wife? That would be the last straw. I’d sooner shoot meself.’ He took her wrists and put her brusquely from him. ‘You’re only fooling yourself, Polly. The sooner you get these daft notions out of your head, the better. You’ve no money to stock a shop, and you can’t keep on selling every stick o’ furniture we’ve ever owned. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.’

‘But it isn’t, and I can. I’ve sold some of it twice already, and how else could I fund the business? It costs me a bit in interest each time, but it’s working. I am starting to get somewhere.’ Matthew turned and walked away. Polly hurried after him, struggling to find the right words, but there seemed nothing left to be said and she felt strangely exhausted by the effort of trying. She managed to keep pace by half running alongside him, but they remained silent and distant, a good yard of pavement between them.

They reached the door of number twenty-three far too soon to Polly’s way of thinking. ‘Will you come inside for a cuppa?’

As expected, he shook his head. ‘Can you not try to believe in me, Matthew? Can’t you see this business will be good for both of us in the end?’

‘I can see you like to get your own way, Polly, always have. And you don’t seem to mind who you hurt in the process. You need me only when things are going badly for you.’

‘Aw, that’s not fair.’

They stood together beneath the light of the lamp like strangers, or worse than strangers, for once they had been lovers and now neither could reach across the great gulf that separated them even to manage a good night kiss.

Chapter Fourteen

In September
1931
Ramsey MacDonald had faced near revolt by his colleagues as Britain came off the Gold Standard, and rumours of financial collapse had been rife. The resulting coalition government had achieved little and by October arrangements were put into place for a hasty election. The result brought a landslide victory for the Conservatives, but peace in Manchester was
to
be less easily won.

The group of men Polly had spotted lounging with every sign of careless indolence against the Green Dragon wall became, the very next day, a key part of that city’s demonstration against the Means Test.
 

Optimism was high and Joshua, accompanied by Matthew, led them into the fray. With them were Stanley Green, Vera Murray’s husband Barry, Bob Reckitt, Norman Sutcliffe, young Tom Shackleton for whom Lucy had once had a fancy, and Cal Eastwood and his cronies, along with a score or so spinners and cotton workers from in and around Dove Street.