The Liverpool Rose (35 page)

For Lizzie, that had seemed to be the final straw. ‘No one bleedin’ well owns me,’ she had informed him, pink-faced and furious. ‘All
I
wanted was an evenin’ out wi’ two of me pals. It were you and that stupid Clem who turned it into a sort of contest. Well, I’ve had enough of both of you. If you feel so sorry for
him, then you and he can get together and cry on each other’s shoulders, because I’m off.’ And with that she had stormed out of Lyon’s, leaving Geoff feeling hot and bewildered. If that was how women behaved when you had the least little misunderstanding then he wanted no part of them, he decided, returning thankfully to his books. Only he was certain Evie Evans was not like that. One day, he suddenly felt sure, he would find her again – and in the meantime he would let Lizzie see that he could manage very well without her.

‘What do you want from the greengrocer’s, Aunt Annie? I know you said I were to get some scrag end for a stew, but surely you’ll want turnip, carrots and so on as well? And how about a couple of pound of spuds? I might as well get all your messages in one go, because Sally and I thought we’d go round the shops and look for Christmas presents this afternoon.’

Lizzie and her aunt were in the kitchen; Aunt Annie sitting in her usual chair, knitting industriously. She was making Uncle Perce a pair of the thick woollen socks which the dockers liked to wear in winter to keep off the chill as they worked. Since this meant using four needles, Aunt Annie needed all her concentration and did not even look up when her niece spoke but answered with her eyes fixed on her work. ‘Oh, aye, there’s not half a dozen spuds in the old sack so if you can get the veggies as well as the scrag end that’ll be all I need. Just check in the cupboard for me, will you? I telled your uncle I’d do a marmalade pudding for afters, so make sure I’ve gorra jar not opened. He’s rare fond o’ marmalade pudding is my Percy.’

There was a comfortable smugness in her voice which made Lizzie smile to herself, but there was no doubt that of late Uncle Perce had been very much pleasanter to his wife. Before, Lizzie sometimes thought, there had been faults on both sides. Because
of her aunt’s unhappiness, number nine had not been a good place to return to after a hard day’s work, so Uncle Perce had stayed away as much as he could, but over the past few weeks, Aunt Annie had begun to make a real effort to turn their home into a pleasant place to be. Aunt Annie had recently inherited some money upon the death of an aunt and now she had what she described as ‘a little nest-egg’ tucked away in the bank though Lizzie thought that Aunt Annie had only confided in herself and possibly Uncle Perce since no one else ever mentioned her good fortune. She had bought new cushions for the sagging wicker chairs in the kitchen, had changed the draggled and dirty curtains for fresh clean ones, and had even attacked the parlour, putting down pretty floral rugs on the floor and re-upholstering the sofa on which her husband spent so many nights. Upstairs, she had bought thick woollen blankets for the bed and feather pillows with clean, crisp pillow cases. Ever since their arrival Uncle Perce had been sleeping upstairs.

Lizzie thought hopefully that this might well prove to be the salvation of Aunt Annie’s marriage for now Uncle Perce actually complimented her aunt on the delicious meals she served and usually remained for at least half an hour in his wife’s company afterwards before going off to the pub. In fact, so pleasant were things at home that Lizzie no longer regretted so deeply the rows she had had with Geoff and Clem. She still had Sally to go around with and it was fun to sit in the kitchen with a cheerful and optimistic Aunt Annie, knitting away, and discuss her work, her life, the young men she met at dances and the cinema shows she and Sally enjoyed. Even Herbie and Fred had noticed the change in the atmosphere when they
came round to see their mother, and had taken lately to stopping for a meal and then remaining to chat with their father about affairs of the day.

Lizzie went across the room and checked the level of the marmalade; there was a full jar and another with just a scraping in it – plenty for a marmalade pudding, she decided. ‘As I’m in the butcher’s for the scrag end, shall I see if I can get a lump of suet?’ she enquired, struggling into her coat and wrapping her warmest scarf around her neck. ‘You could do a suet pudding with treacle for tomorrow – I know Uncle Perce loves a treacle pudding. Besides, it’s so perishin’ cold we all need to line our stomachs with something warming.’

‘Good idea. A pound of suet would make a huge puddin’, and if you could get some fades from the market while you’re buying the carrots and that, then I could do an apple puddin’ for Monday,’ Aunt Annie said. She turned her knitting and Sausage, seated on her left knee, got knocked to the floor, flapping and squawking loudly. ‘Shurrup, you silly old hen, I didn’t knock you off a’ purpose,’ Aunt Annie said indulgently, patting one large knee encouragingly. ‘Come on, me little feathered friend, me knee’s quite cold without your nice fat feathers coverin’ it up.’

‘Okay, I’ll see if I can get some fades,’ Lizzie said, pulling on her thick woollen gloves and picking up her canvas bag. She had already taken Aunt Annie’s purse from its place on the sideboard and now clicked it open and examined the contents, checking over pennies, ha’pennies and threepenny bits and noting the presence of a shiny florin amongst the other coins. Yes, there would be sufficient money for all her purchases, she decided, tucking the purse into her overcoat pocket. ‘Cheerio for now, Aunt Annie. I’ll be
as quick as I can because the cold’s wicked out there, but I doubt I’ll be back in under an hour.’

Opening the front door, she actually hesitated for a second before plunging across the court. It was bitterly cold; above the blackened chimney pots she could see that the sky was blue and clear. Even so, she shrugged the scarf up to cover her mouth because the air was so icy it snatched her breath away, making her cough through the thick white mist forming around her mouth. She turned right on to Burlington Street and almost immediately saw Dolly Stewart ahead of her, also carrying a canvas bag; clearly, Dolly was also doing the messages for her mother. Lizzie quickened her pace and caught up with the other girl. ‘Morning, Dolly!’ she said cheerfully, through her muffling scarf. ‘Going up to the Scottie, are you? If so, we might as well walk together. Are you going up as far as St John’s Market? Me aunt wants veggies and some fades for a puddin’ as well as some scrag end from Staunton’s.’

I’m to get the biggest bag of spuds I can carry and an ox tail as well as some veggies, so it looks as though we’re bound in the same direction,’ Dolly said cheerfully. ‘Me mam telled me to go up to Sharpe’s the ironmonger’s for a can of paraffin, but that’ll have to come later. I ain’t a perishin’ donkey, I told her. Norreven your daughter can carry that much. How’s the family, Lizzie? I’ve not seen you for a few weeks so I’m behind with all your news. Someone told me they saw Herbie and Denis round your place the other night, though. Don’t say they’ve moved back home again?’

Lizzie’s ears had pricked up at the mention of Sharpe’s the ironmonger’s. She had been neither near nor by the shop for months, and had almost forgotten
about Flossie and her friendship with Uncle Perce. Now she said airily: ‘No, the boys were only visiting. And things are grand at home right now, thanks. But why did your mam want paraffin from Sharpe’s? There must be nearer places than that what sell the stuff.’

‘Oh, didn’t you know? Me mam is second cousin once removed to old man Sharpe’s daughter Millie, so the old feller always gives us a discount, like. But, as it happens, he’s in hospital. Me mam told me the doctor says he ain’t expected to live for more than a few days, and that wife of his ain’t likely to give me the time of day, lerralone a discount. Have you heard what the old devil’s been and gone and done?’

‘No?’ Lizzie said on an interrogative note. She had had no idea that Dolly was in any way connected with the Sharpe family. ‘Go on, tell us the worst.’

‘He’s been and gone and left the shop, the flat above it and all his perishin’ money to his daughter, Millie,’ Dolly said triumphantly. ‘That painted Jezebel what he married is going to be mad as fire when she finds out. Norra penny, that what she’s gettin’ – and what she deserves,’ she added with more than a trace of spite in her voice.

‘Norra penny?’ Lizzie echoed. ‘But why ever not? I thought husbands always left their money and that to their wives. Isn’t it the law or something?’

‘Dunno. All I know is, he telled his daughter, and she telled my mam, that he’d found Flossie out after all these years. Says she’s got a fancy man what she meets most nights and carries on with somethin’ awful. Says he’s set a detective on ’em, like in the fillums, and the chap caught them red-handed. Imagine! Cor, I wish
I’d
been a fly on the wall,’ she added.

‘What an awful thing,’ Lizzie breathed. ‘Did – did Millie say who the feller was? I wonder if it’s anyone we know?’

‘She never said, so I suppose the detective chap just saw her with a man and that were enough proof for old Sharpe to change his will,’ Dolly said airily. ‘My mam thinks the shock of findin’ out that Flossie was unfaithful is what purrim in hospital. Why, when you think about it, it’s almost as bad as murder, that.’

Lizzie was relieved to hear that her uncle’s name was not being linked to Flossie Sharpe’s and extremely glad that she herself had kept quiet on the subject. The only people to whom she had mentioned it had been Clem and Geoff, and even though they had quarrelled, she knew they would never let her down by breathing a word to a soul. Sally’s mam, however, was a different kettle of fish, but since she and Sally had both assured Mrs Bradshaw the previous summer that happily the affair had ended, she doubted whether her pal’s mam would start any unfortunate rumours.

All the way to the shops, Lizzie and Dolly chatted about other things, having exhausted the topic of the Sharpes. After all, Dolly had no idea that Lizzie’s family were in any way connected with Flossie Sharpe so would naturally assume that Lizzie’s interest in their affairs would be short-lived. But all through the shopping expedition and their discussion of films, film stars and boyfriends, there was a nasty little niggling doubt in the back of Lizzie’s mind which would not go away. In some way she felt vaguely threatened by the thought of Flossie’s fury when the details of her husband’s will came to light. It was useless telling herself that old man Sharpe
might live for years; after Dolly’s calm reiteration of the doctor’s remark, she could not believe it.

‘Here’s Staunton’s. Oh, look, they’re queuing right out on to the pavement,’ Dolly said, giving a groan. ‘I only hope no one else is after ox tail, ’cos there’s only one to each carcass and I do love an ox tail stew.’

Joining the queue, Lizzie giggled. ‘I may not be a country girl but I reckon you’re right. One tail to a cow seems to be what most of ’em have,’ she said. ‘Oh, good, Joe Lidd’s serving as well as Mrs Staunton. If we can get him, he’ll always pop a few marrer bones into the parcel. He’s nice, is Joe.’

‘He lives in your court, doesn’t he?’ Dolly said. ‘Ain’t he courtin’ Bessie Pye? She lives close by us so if anyone gets free marrer bones, it oughta be me.’

‘Well, Joe’s a nice feller, so if there’s any to spare I daresay we’ll both get one or two,’ Lizzie said philosophically. ‘By golly, this queue’s moving slowly! Ah, now it’ll speed up. Mr Staunton’s coming through from the back and he’s a dab hand with the cleaver. He’ll joint the meat for the other two and we’ll be served before you know it.’

Lizzie was right and a quarter of an hour later the two of them were making their way towards St John’s vegetable market, talking about mutual acquaintances and discussing the various means by which young ladies like themselves could remain reasonably warm at dances while clad in their flimsiest dresses. Lizzie was in favour of piling on as much underwear as would fit under her dance dress whereas Dolly thought that a fluffy spangled shawl or a bolero jacket kept her warm enough, in the dance hall at any rate. The talk then moved on to the dresses which both girls owned. No one in their position could have more than one dance dress, of course, but
with a little guile that dress could be made to appear different at each wearing, so that even though one’s intimates recognised the garment unerringly, strangers – and young men – would think it a different outfit. Lizzie’s dance dress was of black ninon, with a dropped waist, which she sometimes wore with a blue velvet sash adorned with a huge silver buckle. At other times, she pinned a pink artificial rose to one shoulder, or donned a light and gauzy gold scarf which she tied in a bow at the nape of her neck, allowing the ends to dangle below her waist. This poodle bow, as it was called, was the height of fashion and Lizzie had three: one in gold tulle, one in silver gauze, and one in cream-coloured crêpe-de-chine, patterned with rosebuds.

Dolly’s dance dress was brighter and more striking than Lizzie’s, being of pale blue artificial silk with a deep ‘V’ neck-line and a layered skirt. But it was far more difficult to disguise its appearance so, generally, she pinned an artificial rose to the waist or relied upon her jacket and scarves for variety.

Discussing clothes kept the two girls busy until they reached the market, whereupon the search for bargains took over once more and they prowled amongst the stalls, examining the goods for sale and finally choosing one of the country stalls where the stallholder sold her own vegetables and was consequently cheaper than some of the more professional market women.

‘Well, I reckon we done all right,’ Dolly said breathlessly, as the two of them lugged their heavy bags back along Scotland Road. ‘Ain’t it freezin’ though, queen? It’s cold enough for two pair o’ bootlaces, as me dad would say. And you have to watch the gutters where the water’s froze hard – me
mam went a terrible purler only yesterday ’cos one of the boys had slopped water on to the steps when he brung it in and, o’ course, it froze solid, didn’t it?’ She chuckled. ‘Me mam reckoned she sailed through the air like a seagull. Lucky she weren’t hurt when she landed, that’s what I said to young Ivan, ’cos it were him that spilt the water.’