The Mersey Girls (10 page)

She had felt mean, but she saw the point of Roddy’s advice, because though her mother always did send money, it was often very late indeed and harsh words were apt to be said before the money orders turned up. With some savings of her own tucked away, therefore, she could appease Mrs Roberts’ strident demands with the odd bob or two.

‘You really mean it, then, Linnet acushla? You truly don’t want to come to New York? You’d really rather stay here, with your school friends and Roddy?’

‘I truly would,’ Linnet said steadily. And then decided that, if she was to be left, she might as well say a word or two of warning. ‘But I really don’t like Mr Beatty, Mammy, and I just hope he means well by you.’

Evie, sipping tea, laughed and leaned over to stroke her daughter’s cheek. ‘Darling, of course he means well by me,’ she said indulgently. ‘He’s going to make me a star – I
told
you.’

‘Yes, but . . . other impresarios have said that, and it hasn’t quite come off, has it?’

It was extremely brave of Linnet to say this since it was a forbidden subject, but though her mother frowned and looked reproachful, she did not start to cry, or tell Linnet that she was cruel and unjust and simply did not understand show business.

‘Ah, but Terence is rather special, alanna. He has connections with the highest in the land, he’s going to introduce me to everyone . . . he could’ve been a star himself with his looks, but he’s chosen to scout for talent all over Europe instead, because he so loves to travel.’

‘But, Mam, suppose something goes wrong and you don’t – don’t
take
? What’ll he do then?’

Evie gave a soft, triumphant laugh and set down her cup of tea; then she jumped to her feet and began to dance, whirling and twirling, with her arms round herself in an ecstasy of excitement.

‘Ah, then, what do you think? You’ll never, ever guess!’

‘He’ll bring you home?’ Linnet suggested, and saw her mother’s brow momentarily marred by a frown.

‘No, alanna, what a dreary thing to say – he’ll marry me, of course!’

Evie left for New York in November and although Linnet wept and at times felt both lonely and vulnerable, she very soon settled into a routine. It was no different really from her pantomime routine – except that when January and February, both miserably cold and snowy months, had passed, there was still no sign of her mother’s return. Her letters had been few and somehow guarded, as though she did not want to talk about her life, and this worried Linnet, but Roddy cheered her up by reminding her that it was early days, that her mother had already been in some famous revue on Broadway and that the money, at least, came regular.

‘Which it didn’t always do when she were in panto, as we both know,’ he reminded her. ‘I reckon your mam’s doin’ all right. She’ll send for you one of these days, just you see.’

‘I don’t want her to send for me,’ Linnet pointed out. ‘I want her to come home!’

‘Oh, well, send for you or come home, what difference does it make, so long as you’s together? And anyway, you’re with friends and old Ma Roberts is all right to you, ain’t she?’

Mrs Roberts was all right and continued all right until just after Easter, when she came up to ‘have a chat’ as she phrased it. It was just after they had finished the hot meal she had served downstairs for herself, Linnet and her elderly and apologetic husband and Linnet, answering the door to her, had to hastily shove out of sight the large bar of Nestles chocolate which she was using to fill the chinks left by Mrs Roberts’ rather uninspired cooking.

‘Come in, Mrs R,’ she said, however. ‘Make yourself at home.’

Mrs Roberts settled herself on the little sofa with its pale green silk upholstery, looking very out of place, Linnet thought privately, and cleared her throat a couple of times before she spoke. And when she did speak, she did not once look at Linnet but allowed her eyes to rove around the living room, now alighting on the little walnut wood piano, now on the fancy what-nots with their burden of pretty china ladies and gentlemen, now on the tasteful watercolours in their gilded frames which hung on the walls.

‘Well, queen, this is a snug little place an’ no error,’ she said at last. ‘And your mam sends the rent regular, I’ll give ’er that.’

‘Yes, I know she does,’ Linnet said politely. ‘I bring it round, don’t I, Mrs Roberts?’

‘Oh aye, indeed you does. Yes, indeed. The only trouble is, queen, that prices ’ave riz. Oh aye, they’ve riz somethin’ shockin’.’

‘Butter is a little dear,’ Linnet said cautiously. She had not actually noticed much change in prices, but it was usually politic to agree with grownups. ‘Margarine is nearly as nice, though.’

Mrs Roberts began to bridle and Linnet realised that she had been a bit tactless. Mrs Roberts had indeed begun to make Linnet’s butties for school with margarine, but perhaps she should have gone on pretending that it was butter? Grownups are so weird, Linnet thought despairingly, how was one ever to learn how to treat them?

‘I wouldn’t know about that, being as ’ow I allus buys butter,’ Mrs Roberts said untruthfully but with such conviction that Linnet wondered if she could have been mistaken. ‘But things
is
a price, chuck, so I wondered whether . . .’

‘Whether what, Mrs Roberts?’ Linnet asked when the silence began to stretch uncomfortably. ‘Do you want an errand running?’

‘No, norran errand. I was wonderin’, queen, whether it wouldn’t be a good scheme for you to share this flat, which is plenty big enough for two. Then I wouldn’t ’ave to write to your mam askin’ for more money, you see.’

‘I could eat less,’ Linnet offered after a moment’s thought. ‘I don’t need butties for school, I’ll wait for me tea. Mrs Sullivan usually gets me a hot meal.’

‘But sharin’ would be company, like,’ Mrs Roberts wheedled. ‘You’re only a child, if the authorities knew you lived ’ere alone . . .’

Danger, said a little voice in Linnet’s head. She’s right, they wouldn’t like it, people like schoolteachers and attendance officers and doctors. Mam meant them when she said ‘People won’t like it,’ and now this old terror is going to tell on me just so’s she can get more money out of Mam!

‘I’ll write to my mother, Mrs Roberts,’ Linnet said, suddenly seeing that in prevarication lay her salvation. The longer she made Mrs Roberts wait for a reply the more likely the old girl was to forget the whole business. ‘It’s for her to decide, but I don’t think she’d like someone else living here when she’s gone to such trouble to keep the place nice, do you? I mean there’s all the ornaments and the knick-knacks, to say nothing of the pictures. Some of them are valuable, you know.’

‘Oh aye, but if it were another gairl from ’er very own theaytre?’ Mrs Roberts said, almost pleadingly, Linnet thought. ‘Norra rough type o’ woman but a nice little actress, say? A decent gairl what ’ud tek good care o’ you, for your mam?’

Oddly enough, the thought of company made Linnet hesitate before reiterating firmly, ‘I’ll have to write to my mother, Mrs Roberts.’ She had sat herself down on the little round chair with the tassels, now she stood up as she had seen her mother do when she wanted to end an interview. ‘Thank you for calling,’ she said with great formality. ‘As soon as I hear from my mother I’ll let you know.’

She watched Mrs Roberts out of the door and down the stairs, then she settled herself at the table with a pot of ink, a scratchy pen, and a pad of paper. She would write to her mother immediately, and then she would nip round and see Roddy. He would have an opinion on the matter, she was sure of it – and Mrs Sullivan, though her home was threadbare and money tight, had her head screwed on right in certain directions. She would soon tell Linnet whether she was being taken advantage of or not!

Roddy was having his tea when Linnet knocked on the door and then entered, as she always did. The whole family were there, with Mrs Sullivan presiding over them all in her wrap-around apron and scuffed, down-at-heel shoes. When she saw who their visitor was she grinned at Linnet, revealing bare pink gums save for one defiant front tooth.

‘Well, if it ain’t our Linnet! Want some grub, chuck?’

‘Please, Miz Sullivan. And some advice, if you don’t mind.’

The arrangement was that Mrs Sullivan would feed Linnet during the school holidays and at weekends and Mrs Roberts would do so the rest of the time, so since this was a holiday Linnet felt entitled to slip onto one of the broken wooden chairs, square her elbows, and begin to eat, whilst explaining, rather thickly, that she was having a problem with her landlady.

Mrs Sullivan was a first-rate cook and could, as she was fond of saying, make a meal fit for a prince out of what others threw away. Her dumplings swimming in a rich mutton gravy had to be tasted to be believed and Linnet wished her present hostess might teach Mrs Roberts how to cook cabbage so that there was still flavour left in it, and potatoes so they didn’t just mysteriously disappear into the water. But of course she could not possibly say so, or not to Mrs Roberts at any rate.

‘More spuds?’ Mrs Sullivan said when Linnet’s plate was mysteriously cleared – it was mysterious, Linnet thought guiltily, when you considered that she had eaten what Mrs Roberts would no doubt think of as ‘a good, hot dinner’, not half an hour ago. ‘Eh, you’re one for your vittles, our Linnie, an’ no mistake.’

Liverpudlians dearly liked to shorten names and Mrs Sullivan was no exception. Roddy’s real name was Roderick, Freddy’s Frederick, Bert was Albert and Matt was Matthew. So Linnet did not object to being called Linnie but regarded it as a love-word, like alanna or acushla on Mam’s lips.

‘You mean I’m greedy, Mrs Sullivan,’ she said now, holding out her plate. ‘Just a couple then, if you can spare ’em. And now, what do you think? Mrs Roberts says prices have riz . . . risen, I mean, and she wants me to share my flat with someone else!’

’Ow much rent’ll you get?’ Mrs Sullivan said at once. ‘If you’re short of a bob it ain’t a bad idea. There’s always someone wantin’ a roof over their ’ead in the city an’ Roddy says you’ve gorra nice little place there.’

‘Oh! Well, I think Mrs Roberts means to keep the rent,’ Linnet said doubtfully. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s what she meant. She said if I’d share it would mean she wouldn’t have to ask Mammy for more money.’

Mrs Sullivan shook her head decisively. She was a small woman, flat-bosomed but blessed with a large bottom and very large grey eyes which twinkled across at Linnet now with a touch of reproach in their gaze. ‘She can’t do that, you pay a fair rent an’ I’ll tell anyone who asks it’s norra penny too little. If you rents out, that’s one thing. If she’s tryin’ to do you puter your place, that’s another. What did you say to ’er?’

‘I said I’d write to my mam,’ Linnet said. She popped the last piece of potato into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. ‘Eh, that was great, Mrs Sullivan; I wish old Ma Roberts could cook like you can.’

‘It’s nice as someone appreciates me,’ Mrs Sullivan said. She winked at Roddy. ‘Don’t you lerrer push you around, chuck. She’s doin’ very well out o’ you, let’s make no mistake.’

‘Right. I’ll tell her my mam says I’m not to share, then,’ Linnet said. Mrs Sullivan shook her head at her.

‘Don’t say that, say your mam might think of sublettin’, but you’ll lerrer know when,’ Mrs Sullivan said. ‘If you need a bit o’ extry money one day, chuck, that’s a better way ’n most to earn it. I’m not sayin’ Mrs Roberts might not get ’er claws on some of it,’ she added generously. ‘But not all, by no means. Lerrer put tharrin ’er pipe an’ smoke it.’

‘You comin’ out, queen?’ Roddy said presently, when Linnet had helped his mother wash up and clear away. The boys usually gave a hand but Linnet enjoyed it and the boys, who often lamented their lack of a sister, enjoyed a break from housework. ‘We could go down to the pier’ead.’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Linnet said cheerfully. ‘Will you come back with me, afterwards, Roddy? I’ll read you me letter.’

‘Sure,’ Roddy said easily. ‘And me mam’s right; you don’t wanna let that old crow do you down.’

‘No-oo. Except that sometimes I do get scared, by myself at nights,’ Linnet admitted as they strolled along Byrom Street, looking in shop windows as they passed. ‘To tell you the truth I’ve always been a bit scared, like, at nights when me mam’s away. It’s no worse now, so I can put up with it, but in a way I wouldn’t mind someone living with me. If it was someone nice, that is,’ she added hastily.

‘You’ve never telled me that before,’ Roddy said, staring at her. ‘You’ve always said you liked it fine, bein’ alone.’

‘Yes, well, it’s never gone on for so long before,’ Linnet said lamely. ‘It’s better in the summer, with the lighter evenings. Are we catching a tram or not?’

‘Not,’ Roddy decided, turning out his pockets. ‘Let’s go down to the docks, instead, eh? Tain’t so far.’

‘Right,’ Linnet said cheerfully. ‘Race you to the next tram stop!’

The letter to Evie had been finished off when Linnet and Roddy got back from their stroll by the river and Linnet had finally gone off to bed quite satisfied with what she should do. She did not hold out much hope of her mother replying quickly – it took weeks for a letter to get to New York and if Mammy was off touring, as she said she might be, then it would be some while before she actually read it, let alone got round to answering. But Mrs Sullivan was a sensible woman, and she had undoubtedly given the same advice that Linnet’s mother would give, particularly as, under Roddy’s instructions, Linnet had assured her mother that Mrs Roberts would take the extra money for herself.

‘No point in your mam thinkin’ she could send you less rent money,’ Roddy said, ignoring Linnet’s objections that her mam would not do anything so unkind. ‘That would put the cat amongst the bleedin’ pigeons, ‘specially if old Ma Roberts couldn’t find no one to take it on. No, chuck, play it safe an’ just mention it, like.’

So Linnet had heeded the advice and gone off to bed satisfied that she had done her best to keep herself – and her mam’s beautiful rooms – safe until Evie’s return. But in the very back of her mind there was a warmness, a security, which had not been there before; if Mammy really did not come back, if she intended to stay in America and did not send Linnet the ticket which, at first, she had promised in every letter, then at least her daughter did have a means to make a living, of sorts. Whilst the rent continued to come regularly she would live in the flat alone, but if prices really did rise, and Mam found herself unable to send more, than she could always sublet, as Mrs Sullivan had called it.