When Wishes Come True
Read When Wishes Come True Online
Authors: Joan Jonker
Copyright © 2003 Joan Jonker
The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 9036 6
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Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War when she met and fell in love with her husband, Tony. For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and it was during this time that she turned to writing fiction. Sadly, after a brave battle against illness, Joan died in February 2006. Her best-selling Liverpool sagas will continue to enthral readers throughout the world.
Joan Jonker’s previous novels, several of which feature the unforgettable duo Molly and Nellie, have won millions of adoring fans:
‘Wonderful … the characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York
‘I enjoy your books for they bring back memories of my younger days’ Frances Hassett, Brixham, Devon
‘Thanks for all the good reads’ Phyllis Portock, Walsall
‘I love your books, Joan, they bring back such happy memories’ J. Mullett, Lancashire
‘I’m an ardent fan, Joan, an avid reader of your books. As an old Liverpudlian, I appreciate the humour. Thank you for so many happy hours’ Mrs L. Broomhead, Liverpool
Also by Joan Jonker
When One Door Closes
Man Of The House
Home Is Where The Heart Is
The Pride Of Polly Perkins
Sadie Was A Lady
Walking My Baby Back Home
Try A Little Tenderness
Stay As Sweet As You Are
Dream A Little Dream
Many A Tear Has To Fall
Taking A Chance On Love
Strolling With The One I Love
When Wishes Come True
The Girl From Number 22
One Rainy Day
Featuring Molly Bennett and Nellie McDonough
Stay In Your Own Back Yard
Last Tram To Lime Street
Sweet Rosie O’Grady
Down Our Street
After The Dance Is Over
The Sunshine Of Your Smile
Three Little Words
I’ll Be Your Sweetheart
Non-fiction
Victims Of Violence
To Clare Foss, Sherise Hobbs and the staff at Headline, and to Darley Anderson and the staff at his agency, for their kindness, friendliness and encouragement over the years.
A big hello to my readers and friends
I hope all is well in your world.
There is a treat in store for you with
When Wishes Come True
. It’s a little different from my other books, but I promise you will love it. Our heroine is a young girl who will capture your heart, as she has mine.
With a mother who shows her no love and thinks she is a cut above their neighbours, Milly’s life is far from perfect. Then she is befriended by the woman next door and her two mates, who bring love and laughter into the young girl’s life. There are a lot of surprises ahead for Milly, her new friends and for my readers. I suggest you hurry through your housework, make yourself a cup of tea, choose the most comfortable chair and put your feet up. But don’t forget to have a box of tissues handy. I went through two while I was writing this book.
Take care.
Love
Joan
1925
‘Just look at this one, walking up the street as though she owned it.’ Aggie Gordon was standing on the bottom step of her two-up-two-down house, talking to her next-door neighbour, Rita Wells, when she saw a familiar figure turn into the street. ‘Miss Hoity-Toity … she gets on my bleeding nerves!’
‘Ah, come on, Aggie, she doesn’t do us any harm,’ Rita said. ‘I don’t know why yer feel so strongly about her, she can’t help it if she’s down on her luck. She’s in the same boat as all of us, without two pennies to rub together.’
Aggie pulled a face and folded her arms under her bosom. To say she was well endowed in that department would be understating it, she was enormous. ‘Aye, but we don’t all walk down the street with our noses in the air, do we? Stuck-up madam! She wants taking down a peg or two. And if she ever looks sideways at me, I’ll clock her one.’
Rita turned her head to see a slim, attractive young woman who walked with a straight back and an air of confidence. She’d lived in one of the houses opposite Rita and Aggie for a few years now, but hadn’t made any friends. Her seven-year-old daughter Amelia wasn’t allowed to play with the other children in the street either, which caused most of the neighbours to say the woman was a stuck-up cow who thought she was too good for the likes of them. ‘If she wants to keep herself to herself, Aggie, then that’s up to her, she’s not hurting anyone. It’s the young girl I feel sorry for, she hasn’t got one friend in the street. She’s a nice little thing, too!’
‘How d’yer know that when she’s not allowed to speak to anyone ’cos her bleeding mother thinks we’ve all got fleas?’ Aggie shook her head and her many chins danced. ‘Ye’re daft, you are, Rita Wells, yer never see the bad in anyone.’
‘While you, Aggie Gordon, are never happy unless yer’ve got someone to pull to pieces. Yer haven’t spoken more than ten words to Mrs Sinclair, but yer can’t stand the sight of her. I’m glad I’m a friend of yours, ’cos I’d sure as hell hate to be an enemy.’
Aggie’s head wagged from side to side, sending her layers of chins flying in all directions. ‘And why haven’t I spoken more than ten words to Her Ladyship? Because every time I see her she looks down her nose at me, as though I’m a bad smell.’
‘That’s probably because she knows ye’re always pulling her to pieces. Yer’ve got a voice like a foghorn, Aggie, they should use you when there’s a fog over the Mersey to guide the ships in. Unless Mrs Sinclair is deaf, she must hear yer calling her fit to burn and wonder why. The poor woman lost her husband in the war so yer should have some pity for her, having to bring her daughter up on her own. She’s never done you or me no harm, so for heaven’s sake leave the woman alone and pick on someone who can stick up for herself.’ Rita chuckled. ‘Me, for instance, ’cos I could hit yer back.’
Aggie’s laughter was loud. ‘You! I could knock yer into the middle of next week with just one of me fingers.’
At that moment the woman who was the target of Aggie’s criticism happened to turn her head before inserting her key into the lock. When she saw Rita nod her head, she nodded briefly in return before opening the door and stepping inside. Once the door was closed behind her, Evelyn Sinclair leaned back against it and sighed. How she hated this mean little house in the mean little street, where most of the neighbours were coarse and vulgar. Particularly the little fat woman opposite, whose language was that of a fishwife. The only person in the street she ever had any conversation with was the woman next door, Bessie Maudsley, and on the odd occasion she had exchanged nods with Rita Wells opposite.
Evelyn pushed herself away from the door and hung her coat on a hook in the tiny hall before entering the living room. There, she pulled out one of the wooden chairs from the table and sat down. With her chin cupped in her hands, she took a deep sigh. Just looking around the room filled her with despair. There were no mirrors on the walls, no pictures, and no ornaments on the bare sideboard. When she went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, she would find the pantry almost bare. It wasn’t because she was lazy, and spent her days gossiping like a lot of the women in the street. She had found herself a job in the office of a firm of solicitors in the city centre, and worked there five hours for four days a week. But her job was really a junior’s: running errands, making cups of tea and filing the correspondence of the two solicitors who shared the practice. The wages were low, barely enough to pay the rent on this house and buy what food she could to feed herself and Amelia. New clothes were out of the question, and a fire in the grate a luxury.
Evelyn dropped her head into her hands. What a far cry this was from what she had been used to. Then, as she often did, she closed her eyes and let her mind go back over the years to when she was nineteen. She was an only child, and lived with her parents in an eight-roomed house. Her father ruled her and her mother with a rod of iron. She wasn’t allowed to invite friends to the house, nor accept invitations to visit theirs. But on her nineteenth birthday her father reluctantly agreed that she could go to an afternoon tea dance to celebrate, on the understanding that she was to refuse any requests from strange men to take to the dance floor. She had thought how stupid it sounded to say she could go to a dance but must not take part, but daren’t voice her thoughts or she would have been sent up to her room and told to stay there until Father said she could come down for her meal. So she promised she would not dance, and that she would be home by six o’clock. She would have promised him anything, just to get out of the house and be able to act her age.
Her office friend, Gwen, had loving parents, and as a result was more sure of herself and more outgoing. When they met up that Saturday afternoon, she linked Evelyn’s arm and grinned. ‘First day of freedom, eh?’
