The Cobbler's Kids (20 page)

‘Are you going to Rita’s place?’

‘For tonight I am, but I can’t stay there, things aren’t too good between us at the moment. She’s fed up with hearing about my problems. Tomorrow I’m going to look for a ship. I’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, but what’s happened tonight has made my mind up.’

‘Must you do that? If you go to sea I’ll have no one to turn to …’

‘I’m sorry, Vee, but my mind’s made up. I’ll keep in touch and I’ll try and be back again in three or four months’ time.’

Vera found that living with Di Deverill was an ongoing nightmare. Not only was she slovenly and lazy, demanding and aggressive, but also a troublemaker. She was continually complaining to Michael Quinn about her and Benny.

‘Benny,’ she claimed, ‘is a cheeky little devil and your Vera is that damn insolent that I want to knock her block off sometimes. The little cow doesn’t do anything I ask her to do.’

Michael always believed Di, no matter what Vera said. He always took Di’s side in an argument. In his eyes she could do no wrong and he had no interest in what Vera had to say.

To compensate Di for such constant bickering he spent lavishly on new clothes for her. The low-cut necklines, and short, alluring skirts on the dresses she chose, accentuated her plump, middleaged figure. They attracted a mixture of amused and disgusted looks when she accompanied Michael to the pub.

When he found her new dresses thrown into a corner of their bedroom, all crumpled, creased and stained by spilled beer he berated Vera for the state they were in.

‘Why should I pick up and wash her dirty clothes,’ Vera argued. ‘She’s quite capable of doing those things for herself.’

‘You’ve scuppered enough of my plans, you little bitch. If you’d married Bill Martin you’d have had a home of your own by now. From now on you’ll do as you’re told, girl, or I’ll thump your bloody skull,’ he told her angrily.

With an effort, Vera suppressed the retort burning on her lips. She had no doubt that he meant it. She was well aware that lately she had become the prime target for his moods and temper. He blamed her for Eddy going to sea. He’d never been fond of his son, but it irked him that Eddy was no longer contributing to the family coffers.

Above all, he was resentful that Eddy had taken off without a word to him about his intentions.

‘Are you sure that he’s left Cammell Laird’s? I’ve only got your word that he’s gone to sea!’

He refused point blank to believe her when she said that Eddy had gone because he couldn’t stand having Di Deverill in the house.

‘I’d leave home as well if it wasn’t for little Benny,’ Vera told him. ‘You had no right bringing her here and letting her take Mam’s place in your bed.’

‘That is none of your business, my girl, so keep your opinions to yourself,’ he railed. ‘This is my home and I’ll do as I damned well like in it.’

Stung by his lack of concern for her and Benny, Vera retaliated.

‘Is that so? Well let me tell you, she’s only here because she’s got something on you,’ Vera said scornfully. ‘She knows about the fiddle that’s been going on between you and the manager at Coombes’s. What she’s doing is blackmail! I wouldn’t trust her if I were you. If you upset her she’ll drop you in it!’

‘All the more bloody reason for you to keep her sweet then, isn’t it! Don’t you forget that, clever clogs!’

‘I’ll do my share if she does hers,’ Vera told him sulkily. ‘She never helps with the cleaning or cooking, she doesn’t get up in the morning, and half the time she’s awake she’s drunk …’

The impact of Michael Quinn’s hand across her cheek cut short her tirade.

‘If only Mam hadn’t died!’ she exclaimed recklessly, her eyes blazing. It was a mantra she repeated to herself every night in bed as the hot tears trickled down her cheeks, soaking her pillow.

Life had changed so much since Di Deverill had come into their home that if it wasn’t for Benny she’d do the same as Eddy, pack her bags and leave her dad to the mercy of his fancy woman. Without me here to clean and cook for them he’d soon see Di’s true colours, she told herself.

If only her father hadn’t sent Steve Frith packing. Life might have been bearable with him still around, she reasoned. As it was, even life at Elbrown’s was no longer happy or fulfilling since Joan couldn’t forgive her for what had happened to her brother. Work had become merely a means of earning some money, nothing more. The fun had gone.

Rita had no time for her either. Vera had hoped that while Eddy was away at sea their former close friendship would be restored, but this wasn’t to be. When Rita wasn’t working she now spent all of her time with the girls from the factory.

Even Benny had started making friends at school and wanted to go and play with them rather than keep his sister company. She knew it was only natural, but it left her feeling lonely and disillusioned.

She’d never felt in such low spirits. Because her father was so tight with housekeeping money she spent more and more of her own meagre wages on things for Benny. He seemed to outgrow his clothes so quickly and although any replacements she bought for him always came from Paddy’s Market they still cost money.

Every time she had to spend money on Benny she had to go without. She had to dress reasonably smart for work, but she found it increasingly hard to do so. Not only were her clothes shabby, but she was down at heel as well. Her father had repaired her shoes so many times that the uppers were cracked. No matter how much she polished them her shoes always looked old and dull.

As soon as it was warm enough to do so she went barelegged, staining the whiteness of her skin with cold tea and using a black pencil to draw in a pretend seam. She was scared stiff of being caught in the rain because she knew that the colour would run down the back of her legs.

She tried to save money within the home, too, but renewing things there was almost impossible. She turned the sheets sides to middle to give them a new lease of life, and did the same with their towels. When these were too old even to do that she cut out the best pieces to make face flannels and used whatever was left for cleaning cloths.

Her father still spent money on himself. His tailored suits and smart topcoat brought admiring glances when he walked down the road, even when he had Di Deverill on his arm.

Her brassy blonde hair, heavy make-up and spindly high heels all added to her tarty look, but no one dared to say anything, not in Michael’s presence.

To him she was the ideal woman. He was even proud of the fact that she could match him pint for pint and drink him under the table. She could even knock back as many whiskies as he did! It didn’t seem to matter to either of them if she was as unsteady on her feet by the end of the evening as he was. Often Di would be singing her heart out as they stumbled up the stairs to bed, not caring in the slightest if they woke Benny, or disturbed Vera.

Christmas 1929 was the bleakest Vera had ever known. Her father and Di were out at the pub every night, and, as usual, they never rolled home until closing time. They generally shouted and screamed as they bickered with each other over some trivial incident that had happened during the evening. Vera would always wake up because of their noise, but she knew better than to say anything about it. It was no more than she expected now that the novelty of living with Di was beginning to wear off for her father, and he saw that the only thing they had in common was to go boozing together.

Both of them stayed in bed for most of Christmas Day sleeping off their hangovers. When they eventually came down in the evening they were both so befuddled that Vera wasn’t even sure they knew it was Christmas.

Vera had expected to hear from Eddy, hoping he would send a card or perhaps even a present for Benny, but there was nothing. She did her best to make Christmas Day a special occasion for Benny, but with only the two of them to share the meal she’d cooked it was not very exciting.

Benny tucked into the mince pies and the trifle, played with the boxed game she’d bought him, and then read his
Chips
annual from cover to cover.

When Di finally came downstairs at five o’clock, her hair was hanging round her raddled face in rat’s tails and her eyes were bloodshot.

‘For Christ’s sake get me something for this bloody head of mine, it feels as if my skull is splitting open,’ she moaned.

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

‘I don’t want bloody tea! Isn’t there anything stronger?’ she moaned, holding her head in her hands.

‘You know there isn’t!’

‘Then go out and get something. Your dad feels the same. We need a slug of whisky or brandy, or if you can’t get that then bring some gin.’

When Vera refused to go, telling her that it was Christmas Day and none of the off-licences would be open, Di started calling her every name she could think of and berating her for the way she ran the place.

Later, Di and her father went out to a club where, even though it was Christmas Day, they knew they could get some liquor to slake their craving. Vera went upstairs to tidy their room, as her father had ordered her to do. She felt bitter and resentful because he hadn’t bought her a Christmas present or even anything for Benny, because he claimed he had no money to spare. Yet he’d bought Di the flashy fur stole she’d been hankering after and that must have cost more than he handed over in a month for housekeeping.

The state of their bedroom sent a shudder through her. The moment she opened the door the strong smell of California Poppy intermixed with stale cigarette smoke almost choked her. Dirty clothes lay in discarded piles. The rug by the side of the bed was stiff with vomit. Everywhere she looked there were dirty cups, the saucers full of stubbed out cigarettes. All the surfaces were covered in grey cigarette ash and spilled face powder. Brushes and combs thick with hair, soiled handkerchiefs and discarded chocolate wrappers littered the floor.

She shut the door on the scene, disgusted by the squalor, resolutely deciding she was not going to clean it up no matter how much Di, or even her father, might insist that she did.

As the day ended and so few of the things that Vera had promised came true, Benny became sullen and disappointed. ‘You said our Eddy would be home for Christmas,’ he said accusingly, when she told him it was time for bed.

‘I thought he might be. I hoped he would be,’ Vera told him.

‘Bet he’s gone to Rita’s place and not bothered to come here,’ Benny said glumly.

For a moment Vera’s heart lifted. Could that possibly have happened, she asked herself. Was he spending Christmas with Rita and her family because he couldn’t bring himself to come back home knowing that Di Deverill was still living here?

She was tempted to go round to Rita’s house and find out if he was there, but then, she reasoned, Eddy wouldn’t do that to her. Even if he intended to spend Christmas with Rita he would still have come to see them. He would know that Benny would be hoping for a present, and he’d know that she wouldn’t be able to afford to buy him anything very worthwhile.

Boxing Day was on a Thursday and Vera wished that Elbrown’s was open. At least it would put some purpose in her life, to be going to work. That would have meant leaving Benny at home on his own, of course, but if it was an ordinary weekday then his pals would be playing out in the road, or one of the side streets, and he’d be happy to spend his time with them.

It was mid-March 1930 before Eddy came home. His face was bronzed as though he’d spent much of the time in the sun. He’d also matured. He’d gone away as a boy and come home a man.

He stayed at Rita’s place, but met Vera from work every evening. He gave her money to buy herself some new clothes. He bought some exciting presents for Benny, too. More important still, he took his young brother out; he took him once to a football match, and twice to the pictures.

On one of these occasions he insisted that Vera went with them, and afterwards they all went to Lyon’s Corner House for what Benny described as the best nosh he’d ever had in his life.

They were all devastated when it was time for Eddy to return to his ship.

‘Rita and me have talked things over,’ he told Vera when he came to say goodbye. ‘We are planning to get married the next time my ship’s in dock. I’ve decided to get a shore job again and as soon as we have our own home you and Benny can come and live with us.’

Vera was afraid to believe what she was hearing, although her voice and face both showed the relief she felt.

‘Are you both quite sure?’ she asked dubiously. ‘Does Rita agree to these plans? I never see her these days, she hasn’t had anything to do with me since Dad made a pass at her. Does this mean she is ready to be friends again?’

Eddy shrugged. ‘I suppose she is. Anyway, it will be another six months or so until it happens, so you’ve plenty of time to sort things out between you,’ Eddy told her. ‘Do you think you can stand living with Dad and that Di Deverill until then?’

‘It will pass in no time now that I have something like that to look forward to, Eddy,’ she said tremulously.

‘If anything worse does happen then go to Rita’s. Her folks will let you stay there with them,’ Eddy told her.

Vera shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want to do that … I’d feel humiliated.’

‘There’s nothing to be ashamed about. I know you won’t turn to Rita unless things become unbearable, but I want you to know that there is somewhere you can go if you have to.’

Vera experienced a huge sense of loss when Eddy went back to sea. She felt there was no one she could confide in or rely on except Rita and she wasn’t sure that Rita fully understood how worried she was about what the future held for her and Benny. Eddy was the only person who realised how difficult her father could be, how trying she found it was to be living with Di Deverill.

Now that Benny had turned ten he was very alert to what was going on around him. She hated him witnessing how drunk both their dad and Di Deverill were when they came home after their boozing sessions, or listening to their constant bickering.

He’d grown up living in fear of his dad’s moods, fully aware of his temper, but things were growing worse all the time. The increased drinking was making Michael Quinn more malevolent than he had ever been.