The Girl From Barefoot House (12 page)

‘Like me, eh?’ Ivy chuckled, but it came out more like a sob. ‘There’s some thoughts best kept hidden, otherwise they’ll drive you doolally in the end.’ She gave a bitter smile. ‘I met him, Vince, outside church. I was with our Mabel. She was twelve, and I was twenty-four.’ She glanced at her niece, and it was the first time Josie had known a look from Aunt Ivy that wasn’t filled with hatred.

‘You’ll never know what it’s like to be plain. I don’t know where me looks came from – some throwback in the family, an ugly little leprechaun. It didn’t help when I caught yellow jaundice when I was a kid. Me dad, he was a fine-looking man – Mabel took after him – and Mam was dead pretty. Mind you, I assumed I’d find a husband one day, but I never thought it would be someone like Vince. He was so handsome, Josie,’ she said dreamily, as if Vince were dead and Josie had never met him. Then she sighed. ‘But perhaps it was Mabel he was after all along. I think that crossed me mind right from the start, but I kept it hidden in a dark cellar in me brain, like all them other things.’

She suddenly reached behind the arm of the settee and brought up a glass and an almost empty bottle of whisky. ‘I think I might be just a bit sozzled. I’ve been drinking all day and yesterday.’ She emptied the remains of the whisky into the glass, and waved the bottle. ‘It’s five years old, this, so you can see I don’t normally indulge. Make yourself a cup of tea if you fancy one. As from tomorrow, I’ll start looking after you proper. Right now, I’m not fit to walk as far as the kitchen.’

‘I will in a minute, ta.’ The loathing Josie had always felt for her aunt had gone. It was impossible not to feel sympathy for the poor, pathetic woman huddled on the settee. And, young though she was, she understood the need to make excuses, apologise, explain. She must have felt gutted when Mrs Kavanagh told her what her husband had been up to.

‘Oh, and another thing, luv.’ Her aunt drained the glass. Her voice was thick and slurred, the way Mam’s used to be. ‘I’d never have left you alone with
him
if I’d thought there was a chance he’d lay a finger on you. Not on his own
daughter
. He must be sick in the head. It’s a crime, that is. It’s called something, I can’t remember what right now. That’s how I got him to leave. I threatened to fetch the bobbies to him.’ Her face seemed to shiver. ‘Oh, I wonder where he is, if he’s got a place to sleep, like?’

Josie felt her blood turn to ice.
She still loves him!
In her heart, perhaps Ivy still longed to convince herself that My Vince had done no wrong.

She made tea and took it to the lounge, where she drew the blackout curtains, discreetly hidden behind the green silk, and switched on the lamp.

Aunt Ivy was sobbing wretchedly. ‘She let me put her out rather than tell the truth about Vince.’

‘She thought the truth would kill you,’ Josie said.

‘Oh, dear God,’ her aunt shrieked, and crossed herself. ‘Dear God, forgive me.’

Not long afterwards Ivy fell asleep. Josie fetched the maroon eiderdown to lay over her, then went to bed herself.

Neither Josie nor Lily passed the scholarship. ‘I suppose we’re just not clever enough,’ Josie said when the letters with the results arrived. St Joseph’s had broken up two weeks ago for the summer holiday.

‘I would’ve passed if I hadn’t had such an awful headache,’ Lily claimed. ‘And my nib was crooked, and I’m sure Mrs Barrett hadn’t taught us some of them sums.’

Josie grinned. ‘And the chair was uncomfortable, the sun was shining right in your eyes and the desk kept wobbling.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyroad, if our Ben can pass, then so should I.’

‘Oh, Lil. Didn’t you read your Ben’s end-of-term report? He got top marks for everything except art.’

‘If they’d had art in the scholarship, then I’m certain to have passed,’ Lily grumbled. ‘Mr Crocker said that picture I did of a tiger was dead brilliant.’

Mr Crocker had said all their pictures were brilliant, but sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing with Lily.

Like thousands of streets all over the country, Machin Street was throwing a party. It was 8 May 1945, VE Day, and the war was finally over. Hastily made bunting fluttered in the warm breeze. Union Jacks hung from the windows, blackout curtains were taken down, the ugly
crisscross tape removed. Tables groaned with food, and there was a bar of chocolate for every child.

The day was a national holiday and everyone went completely mad. Several pianos were dragged outside to accompany the singing and dancing. Neighbours who’d never spoken to each other before, or who had sworn never to speak again, shook hands and promised to be the best of friends.

There were sing-songs and dancing, and everyone got extremely emotional when they sang, ‘We’ll Meet Again’ and ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. Josie danced with Lily. She clung to Mr Kavanagh’s waist when the entire street did the conga, Aunt Ivy holding on behind. They made circles and did the hokey cokey and Knees up Mother Brown. Later, when it grew quieter, Ben took her in his arms for the waltz, ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight?’

‘We’ll always remember this day, Josie,’ Ben whispered. ‘We’ll talk about it when we’re very old – the day the worst war the world has ever known came to an end.’ His eyes glistened with emotion. ‘I love you, Josie,’ he gulped.

‘I love you,’ she replied in a small voice.

The celebrations continued late into the night. When it grew dark, the lights in every room in every house were switched on, and the whole street sang ‘When the Lights Go On Again’ followed by a tremendous cheer and a chorus of ‘God Save The King’.

Next morning, before she went to work, Aunt Ivy offered her one and only piece of motherly advice. ‘I saw you dancing with Ben Kavanagh last night, luv. You want to be careful there.’

‘But he’s ever so nice,’ Josie protested.

‘Oh, he’s a lovely lad, from a lovely family. I’d be dead
chuffed if you became a Kavanagh.’ She closed her eyes, as if imagining herself sharing the limelight with Mrs Kavanagh at the wedding. ‘But you’re far too young for boyfriends, luv. Ben’s obviously smitten, and if you’re not careful you’ll find yourself walking blindfold into marriage with a chap you don’t love because you’ve never known anyone else. All the love will be on
his
side, and although he might think that’s enough for both of you it’s not true.’ She pursed her lips sadly. ‘It’s something I know from bitter experience. I loved my Vince enough for ten women, and look at what he did.’

‘I’m sorry, Auntie,’ Josie sighed.

‘Oh, Lord, luv, don’t apologise. He tried to ruin your life, as well as mine. But at least we’re still alive to tell the tale, eh, not like our poor Mabel.’

‘Of course, we’re middle-class, stupid,’ Lily said furiously. ‘Me da’ owns his own shop, our Stanley’s a sergeant in the army in Berlin, Marigold’s married to a solicitor, Daisy’s a qualified librarian, well, almost, our Robert manages something or other down in London, I work in an office and look at our Ben, off to Oxford or Cambridge next October.’ She finished her litany with a superior sneer.

‘I’ve got exams to take first,’ Ben reminded her.

Lily tossed her waist-length hair. ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Ben. We all know you’ll come top in everything.’

Francie O’Leary, the prime target of Lily’s wrath, looked at Ben with his small, mean eyes. Lily was madly in love with him. She found him attractive in a small, mean way, like a handsome rat. Francie talked out of the
corner of his mouth like Humphrey Bogart. Even though they were inside, he wore a trilby hat on the back of his head that made him look a bit of a rogue. ‘What have you got to say about this, Ben?’ he enquired lazily.

‘Me!’ Ben laughed. ‘I don’t believe in the class system. As John Ball said, “Ye came as helpless infants to the world, Ye feel alike the infirmities of nature, Why then these vague distinctions?”’

‘Who the hell’s John Ball?’ Lily interceded.

‘Leader of the Peasants’ Revolt.’

‘I thought that was Wat Tyler.’ Francie had been Ben’s friend at Quarry Bank. His father had been killed in the war, and he’d left at sixteen to provide for his mother and two young sisters. Josie wondered if he resented his friend going to university. It seemed very unfair that the son of a man who’d given his life for his country had been denied higher education.

Ben said, ‘Wat Tyler was the brawn, John Ball the brains.’

‘He can’t have had much in the way of brains,’ Francie said drily. ‘The whole bloody revolt was a wash-out. The peasants were routed, if I remember right.’

‘They were betrayed. John Ball was hung, drawn and quartered. I don’t know why we’re arguing, Francie. We’re both on the same side. Our Lily’s the only one out of line.’

‘Do you mind?’ Josie broke in. ‘I’ve no idea whose side I’m on, thanks all the same. I don’t know what class I am either, and, quite frankly, I don’t care.’ Months ago, the four of them had got into the habit of coming to town on Saturday mornings, sitting for hours in a restaurant and arguing – about politics, life, religion, the headlines in that morning’s newspapers.

‘You’re what’s called a “white-collar” worker, Jose, so you’re definitely middle-class,’ Lily said firmly. ‘
And
you live in Machin Street, which is in a middle-class area. There’s already five families with cars, me da’ amongst them.’

‘Bollocks!’ Francie snorted. ‘If it were middle-class, it’d be a road, Machin Road – or Machin Avenue. Streets are only for us poor, working-class fodder.’

‘What about Downing Street?’ said Josie. ‘And Harley Street, where the posh doctors live?’

Lily threw her a grateful smile, and Francie clutched his brow and pretended to look devastated. ‘You got me there, Jose. That was a knock-out blow.’

Ben squeezed Josie’s shoulders. ‘Clever girl,’ he whispered.

She thought it obvious, not clever. He was being a bit patronising, but she daren’t say anything because he got disproportionately upset if she criticised him. She could never truly be herself with Ben.

The manageress glared at them from behind the till. They’d been there two hours and had bought only a single coffee each, and she was expecting an influx of lunchtime customers any minute.

They took the hint, drained the dregs of the coffee, now stone cold, and wandered into Bold Street. Josie pulled on a woolly hat that covered her ears, buttoned her coat against the bitter February wind and wrapped a scarf twice around her neck. Francie took Lily in his arms and they kissed passionately.

‘Young love!’ Ben rolled his eyes and took Josie’s hand. He disapproved of such demonstrations, which he considered showy and insincere. Lily had kissed previous boyfriends with equal passion, though she swore things were dead serious between her and Francie. They hadn’t
yet gone all the way, but it was likely to happen any minute. Lily couldn’t wait.

Ben had never tried to go all the way with Josie. He respected her too much. Although he had never discussed it, she took it for granted that they would wait until they were married, which would be after he’d got his degree and found a job. Josie felt relieved, as she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. She quite enjoyed Ben kissing her and touching her naked breasts, which he’d never properly seen because she was always fully clothed, and he merely slid his hand inside her frock or under her jumper. Pleasant though these occasions were, she had the feeling she wasn’t enjoying herself remotely as much as Lily when she did the same thing with Francie, but, then, Lily was always prone to exaggeration.

‘It was heaven,’ Lily gushed the first time. ‘I went all woozy. I completely lost control, and so did Francie. We might well have gone all the way if it hadn’t been raining.’

Lily and Francie paused for another kiss. Ben said, ‘Hey, folks, where are we going?’

‘The Pier Head?’ Francie suggested.

‘It’s bloody freezing.’ Lily shivered. She looked up at the bleak, grey sky. ‘It looks as if it might snow. Can’t we go somewhere inside? Has anyone got any money?’

‘I’m skint,’ Francie announced. ‘You gave a penny towards me coffee, remember?’

‘I’ve only got three bob, but I need half that for next week’s fares to work. Then there’s tonight …’ Josie’s finances were a mess. She’d only been paid the day before, but by then she had owed Aunt Ivy her entire wages. The same thing happened nearly every week. She couldn’t resist the clothes she saw as she wandered
around town during the dinner hour. Last week, she’d seen a lovely black frock with embroidery on the bodice that looked like a waistcoat. Aunt Ivy had loaned her a pound towards it, and she’d had to borrow her fares for the rest of the week.

Lily was rooting through her purse. ‘I’ve got nearly eight bob, but I need stockings and a Max Factor panstick. If there’s enough over, I’ll treat everyone to another coffee, as long as someone does the same for me next week.’

Ben, who had to exist on five shillings a week pocket money, took no part in this debate. Josie paid for herself at the pictures nowadays, and sometimes for Ben, though he claimed it made him feel like a kept man.

They went to Owen Owen’s department store. After Lily had bought the stockings and the panstick, they decided to tour the shop for something to do. In the furniture department, Francie pushed Lily down on a fully made-up bed and kissed her again.

‘Do you mind?’ an elderly assistant said frostily.

‘We were just trying it out, like, seeing if it felt comfortable.’ Francie pulled Lily up, and patted the bed. ‘What do you think, darling? Shall we buy it or not? We’re getting married soon,’ he explained to the assistant.

‘I’d like to look around other shops first.’

All four exploded into giggles and made for the stairs.

‘Would you say that was a proposal?’ Lily gasped as they raced to the ground floor, the boys ahead.

‘He was only joking, Lil.’

‘I’ll sue him for breach of promise, take him to court. You and Ben can be me witnesses.’

‘I doubt if that would work.’ If Lily was set on capturing Francie O’Leary, she needed to be a bit more
agreeable. He wasn’t the sort of chap who appreciated being called an idiot, or told he was dead stupid if they happened to disagree.