1925 Liverpool
It was a mild night for September, so the window in Rosie Ryder’s small bedroom was half open, letting in both the soft night air and the glow from the gas-lamp outside in the street.
Rosie had been in bed a good hour or more, but she couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and besides, she had a piece of poetry to learn for school and it refused to stay learned unless she kept going over and over it in her head. Past experience had taught her that a poem repeated just before sleep somehow stuck, she did not know why, so she hadn’t bothered to learn it earlier but had gone out and played in the road with her friend Peggy, first quietly enough with their skipping ropes, then far more rowdily with the rest of the kids in a game of relievio, with the yard at the back of the public house on the corner – Ricky Elliott was the landlord’s son – as the gaol.
It was a noisy game, popular with kids but not with grown-ups because of the noise. For not only were there screams of ‘Comin’, ready or not!’ from the hunting team, but the hiders would shriek when they were caught, warn others at the top of their voice that the enemy were in the vicinity, and when packed into the gaol they would shout ‘Relievio!’ until a member of their own team, uncaught, came to rescue them.
There weren’t a lot of hiding places unknown to both sides, of course, because it was an unwritten rule that you didn’t hide on private property. That was why it was best played at dusk, so that hiding was easier and seeking harder, for the most exciting part of the game was sneaking past the seekers to let your pals out of gaol and this, also, was easiest in the dusk.
The boys usually organised relievio, so you had to be tough to join in. Boys didn’t appreciate girls who cried when they were caught or objected to being barged aside by a male shoulder, they liked the ones who didn’t complain, and took the rough and tumble as fair game. Rosie’s hair was tied back for school in two long plaits and many a time young Alfie Morris, who lived next door to the Ryders, had caught Rosie by grabbing a pigtail, or even by doing a sort of rugby tackle, which brought them down at speed and caused a few startled phrases to erupt from them both. But Rosie, an only child, knew better than to complain. Alice Fitzgibbon, who lived near the end of the street, was an only child and considered a right little ninny by the boys. She never played rough games, and liked to sit on her mother’s front step and knit blanket squares or play cat’s cradle with the younger kids, and of course the boys despised her and told her so. She didn’t mind, though. She would just give them a slant-eyed look, as though to say ‘Just you wait!’, and continue with whatever game she was playing.
‘She’ll be more popular than the lot of ye one of these days,’ Rosie’s mother was wont to say darkly. ‘A feller won’t fall in love wit’ a girl he’s chased up the road and brought with wit’ a crack in the dust. No, when the fellers are searchin’ for sweethearts it’s the little Alices of this world they turn to, you mark my words, Rose Ryder.’
‘I don’t care, I don’t want sweethearts,’ Rosie said airily. ‘I like playin’ wi’ the fellers, Mam.’
And now, of course, she was suffering because if she’d done her homework for Monday earlier she could have let herself go to sleep. Instead, the words of the wretched poem went round and round in her head . . . she even found it hard to concentrate on listening for the sound of her father’s bicycle as he creaked homewards.
Jack Ryder was a tram driver and when the weather was fine he cycled from the tram depot on Smith Street to his home on Cornwall Street. Since his bicycle was an elderly machine, Rosie knew the creak of it by heart and usually heard it first as he turned into the street. If he was on an early shift she would drop everything and run to meet him, casting herself into his arms with a cry of ‘Oh Daddy, it’s good to see you – there’s pig’s liver an’ onions for your tea, an’ Mam’s gorran apple pie an’ all!’
But when he got home late, all she could do was to call down the stairs the instant she heard the back door open, ‘Daddy, I’m in bed, will you come up an hear me pome that I’ve learned for school? When you’ve had your tea, I mean, norright away.’
But he always came up right away, because he knew she’d not settle until he did. So if she missed the bicycle’s creaking progress, she might also miss the opening and shutting of the back door, or worse, she might fall asleep before he got in. But she wouldn’t, of course. She wouldn’t miss saying good-night to her daddy for anything, not even if she had to prop her eyelids open with matches, the way Daddy used to tease her.
She said the poem over once more, then pushed it firmly out of her mind and allowed herself to think about the game of relievio and her close encounter with Moggy Highes, who had seen her crouching behind Mrs Fitzgibbon’s backyard, half hidden, she hoped, by the dustbins, and had reached for her just as she sprang forth and roared off down the jigger, with Moggy so close she could feel his hot breath on her neck. But she’d got away all right, hadn’t she? Girls were often faster runners than boys, and she had sped along the jigger and turned right into Cornwall Street, which meant a long run past her home before making a quick dive into the backyard of the Queen’s Arms to free the prisoners cooped up there with a joyous shriek, then pounding off once more along Netherfield Road this time.
She was in the middle of reliving the glorious moment when she had glanced back and seen Moggy clutching his side and obviously about to give up on such fast prey, when she heard the back door shut. Immediately she shot up in bed and prepared her lungs for a good yell. ‘Daddy! I’m in bed, I’ve been learnin’ me pome, when you’ve et can you come up an’ hear me say it? Daddy, can you come up when you’ve et?’
Rosie paused for breath. She had shouted at the top of her voice, he always heard, but ... ah!
Footsteps crossed the kitchen and trod along the narrow hall. Rosie, who had bounded out of bed to shout, now jumped hastily back in. Her father would not come up if she was out of bed, he had made that quite plain. So now she pulled the sheet up under her chin and bounced up and down on the mattress. ‘We played relievio, this evenin’, Daddy, an’ our team won, mine an’ Alfie’s. Alfie picked me first, Daddy, afore all the fellers, ’cos I can run so fast, an’ Moggy come after me – I was hidin’ behind the Fitzy dustbins – only I ran so quick he couldn’t even sprinkle salt on me tail!’
Her father’s head appeared round the door; he was smiling. ‘All right, lass, all right ... is it a long poem? Only your mammy wants me down again, pronto. She’s cookin’ me a pork chop, wi’ apples an’ sultanas, an’ there’s mashed potatoes an’ fried onions too, so I don’t want that little lot gettin’ cold, for I’m hungry as a lion an’ me carry-out was et hours an’ hours ago.’
‘Yes, I had pork an’ mash for me tea earlier – it were grand. An’ the pome’s norra long one.’ Rosie fished the exercise book containing it from under the bed and held it out. ‘Page seventeen, Daddy.’
‘Gorrit,’ Jack Ryder said after a moment. He looked up at her expectantly. ‘Fire away, chuck.’
Rosie recited the poem falteringly and her father nodded, then put the book down on her counterpane. ‘Well done, queen. And how’s my Rose of Tralee, then? Did you have a good day in school?’
‘It were awright,’ Rosie admitted. Her daddy always called her his Rose of Tralee because he said she was just like the girl in the song. ‘Did you have a good day on the tram, Daddy?’
‘Grand, thanks, Rosie. Well, if that’s all I’ll give you a kiss an’ gerron me way to me supper, ’cos there’s no time to serenade ye tonight. Now get to sleep, there’s a good gal.’ He leaned over the bed and kissed the tip of her nose, then brushed the wisps of hair off her forehead and bent lower, to tuck her in. ‘You’ll not be wantin’ me coat over you tonight,’ he observed. ‘It’s warm still – too warm, you might say.’
In winter, Rosie liked to have her father’s tram driver’s coat as an extra cover, for not only was it thick and warm, it smelled of him and was like being held in his arms all night, safe from all harm. But now, with the day’s warmth still lingering, she smiled and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t need your coat, Daddy,’ she said round the thumb which she had just stuck into her mouth. ‘But won’t you sing me one little bit of me song? It’ll send me straight off to dreamland, sure as sure.’
‘Awright, just one verse,’ Jack Ryder said, sitting down on the bed again and filling his lungs with air.
‘She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me,
Oh no! ’Twas the truth in her eye ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.’
‘Thanks, Daddy, though I still think you ought to ha’ called me Mary,’ Rose said as she always did, as her father’s voice sank artistically low and the song died away. ‘I love your singin’, honest to God I do. Will you always sing to me at bedtime?’
‘As long as you want me to,’ her father said from the doorway. ‘Mary’s a nice name, sure enough, but we liked the name Rose, it suited you. Now goodnight, my very own Rose of Tralee; sleep well.’
‘You sleep well too,’ Rosie mumbled, but once he had gone she lay awake for a little longer, listening to the familiar sounds of her parents in the rooms below: quiet talking, the scrape of a chair, the rustle as her mother pulled the kitchen curtains across. Then, when her mother had washed up and put away the dishes, she imagined them down there in the kitchen, carrying out their usual before-bed tasks. Her mam, who was fair-haired and pretty, with a round, rosy face and quick, neat movements, would be bustling about the room doing all the things she did every night. Turning off the cooking stove, making sure that Socks, next door’s tabby cat, who sometimes came indoors when her owners were out, had not got shut in by mistake, checking the washing to be sure that anything needed for the morning had been ironed and was ready. And Daddy would be relaxing after his day’s work, sitting back in his easy chair with the Echo spread out on his knee, sometimes reading a piece out to his Lily, sometimes chuckling, tutting, exclaiming over a headline.
And presently, Rosie knew, her parents would come up to bed and would pop in, ‘just to make sure’, and she would pretend to be asleep, eyes closed, ignoring her mother’s fussing round the room, straightening the sheet, picking a book off the floor with a gentle murmur of dismay; books must be treated with respect, she would have said if she had known Rosie was awake.
And tomorrow was Saturday, so there would be no school and she would have a whole lovely day to play in. Oh, she would do her chores first; even an only child in a moderately comfortable house had work to do. Rosie would make her bed and tidy her room, then go down to see if her mother had any messages for her to run. There was usually a bit of shopping to be done locally, then, if it was a fine day they might go out somewhere – to the big shops in the city centre, or to Stanley Park, or even out on the overhead railway to Seaforth, perhaps, if her mother was in a good mood. Lily Ryder was a thrifty housewife and always had a store of money in the old pewter teapot on the mantel. She said it was for emergencies, but she often used it for little treats. . . . Lying snug in bed, Rosie hugged herself at the thought of all those little extras. It might be ices at the park, or some new hair ribbons, or a trip into the country and cream tea at a farmhouse. Of course, there were other good ways of spending a Saturday, she knew that. Sometimes she and Peggy went to the cinema, to the special children’s shows, but enjoyable though that was, it wasn’t as good as going out with Mam.
Once more, before she slept, Rosie repeated the poem. It came easily now, one word following another as though she had known it all her life. Satisfied, Rosie slept.
Lily Ryder had heard the shouts from her place by the cooker, and sighed and smiled, knowing very well that it was no use telling Jack to have his meal, then go up and see the child. For one thing, Rose would have fallen asleep and for another Jack would not have enjoyed his meal knowing that, upstairs, his daughter waited.
Lily and Jack had married when she had been twenty and he twenty-seven, and she had fallen for Rose at once. They had wanted a child, Jack especially, but neither had ever bewailed the fact that since Rose’s birth there had never been a sign of any more children. The war had intervened, and in any case it was clearly easier to stay solvent when you had one child than if you had ten, Jack often said. They wanted the best for their girl, and the best would not have been possible had they produced a string of other children.
But there was no doubt about it, Rose was spoiled. She was a real tomboy, preferring boys as companions to girls, enjoying boys’ games and pastimes, and though Lily sighed over her daughter’s torn clothing and frequent scraped knees and ruined boots, she knew that Jack was delighted with his boyish girl.
‘We’ve gorra lad, for all we’ve only gorra girl, Lily me love,’ her husband would say bracingly sometimes, when Lily looked wistfully at a sturdy little boy, playing up at the park or on the sands. ‘Not everyone can say that, you know.’
‘Oh, you think Rosie’s perfect,’ Lily was apt to reply. ‘What’ll you do when she grows up a bit, an’ wants pretty frocks an’ silk stockin’s an’ such?’
‘That’s diff’rent; I like a young lady to be a young lady,’ Jack had assured his wife with a grin. ‘I don’t recall expectin’ you to play cricket or to come swimmin’ in the Scaldy when we met up first.’
Lily laughed. ‘You’d have had to want,’ she had informed him. ‘I weren’t a tomboy even when I were a kid. Me mam brought me up proper strict, no street cricket or Kick the Can for little Lily Roberts! Come to think of it, Jack love, you’d not ha’ wanted to marry me if I’d not been a bit of a homemaker by then. So I really think we should insist that Rose learns more than how to tidy her room an’ make her bed neatly. She’ll be the only girl in the neighbourhood who can’t peel a spud or cook a meal at this rate.’
‘She’ll learn in good time,’ Jack had said comfortably. ‘She’ll change as she grows older an’ begins to see fellers in a different light. And then she’ll want to learn how to mek an apple pie an’ to sew a straight seam, as well as all the other things, like how to curl her hair, an’ look cool an’ pretty even in a heatwave.’
Lily had snorted sceptically, but in her heart she believed that he was probably right and besides, she had no wish to alienate their daughter’s affections by insisting that she did household tasks which she hated and which were not really necessary, since Lily herself did not work.
So now, standing by the cooker ready to serve up his dinner as soon as he appeared downstairs again, she let her mind go back, nostalgically, to those magical courting days, when she had worked behind the counter in a small drapery shop in Scotland Road and had first seen Jack Ryder strolling along the street, gazing into the windows as he passed them.
She had been just sixteen, then, for their courtship had taken all of four years. Lily, youngest of eleven children, had had a dependent mother on her hands at the time and though old Mrs Roberts had died a couple of years after Lily and Jack had met, Jack did not want his wife to work once they were married, which meant that they must have enough savings so that Lily’s wage would not be missed.
But of course she had known nothing of the shared future that was to be theirs as she stood on the top step of the wobbly old step-ladder, cleaning the shop’s big, slightly bowed window. All she was aware of was that there was a handsome young man coming along the pavement . . . and she was up a ladder, with her skirts kilted round her calves, and her legs on view in very old, darned woollen stockings.
She had been half-way down the ladder when the heel of her shoe caught in a piece of uneven wood and she took a nose-dive for the pavement.
Jack had bounded forward and caught her. ‘Bloody ’ell,’ the young man had said breathlessly, with Lily Roberts in his arms, feeling the most almighty fool as she clutched at the strongly muscled shoulders. ‘Strange things ’appen on the Scottie, that I do know, but since when did they tek on women window-cleaners? I know I’m a lovely feller, but it ain’t every day that a beautiful young girl dives nose first into me arms!’
He stood Lily down on the pavement as he spoke but did not let go of her and Lily, blushing and laughing, had bidden him ‘Let me go!’ without, it must be admitted, meaning a word of it. She could see her aunt glaring at her through the glass, however, and because she knew it would annoy that lady to see her in such a compromising position she had not pulled away. The chore of window-cleaning, which was hers whenever the shop was quiet, was a bone of contention between herself and Aunt Em anyway. Other shop girls did not clean the windows, the shop owners employed a proper window-cleaner, but Aunt Em was mean and moaned all the time about the amount of money she paid her niece.
So now Lily gazed up at her rescuer, taking in his appearance. She liked the brightness of the blue eyes in his tanned face, the cowlick of brown hair which overhung his brow, and the humour and gentleness in the line of his mouth. ‘It’s me aunt’s shop; I work there as a counter-hand,’ she informed him. ‘She meks me clean the windows, though – too perishin’ mean to employ a feller and that’s the truth.’
He smiled lazily down at her. ‘And you go on workin’ here, when she uses you as slave labour?’ he said mockingly. ‘Where’s your pride, queen? You want to tell ’er where she gets off.... Me cousin Alice works on Great Homer Street an’ she was tellin’ me that there’s a job goin’ there in a drapery. She wanted to apply ’cos the money’s good, but she’s in ironmongery an’ they want someone wi’ drapery experience. Why don’t you have a go, eh?’
In one moment of knowing Jack, it seemed, he intended to change her life. ‘I will,’ she said without giving the matter any further consideration. ‘What’s the name of the place?’
He told her, and suggested that she go into the shop now and tell her aunt that she’d met an old friend and wanted to go along with him and have a word with his mother, or invent some other excuse for leaving off work right away. ‘I can tek you along to Great Homer Street meself, to the very door,’ he promised. ‘Then, when you’ve got the job, we can get ourselves a bite of tea. We might go to the picture house, an’ all – d’you like the flickers?’
Lily realised that this was all going a good deal too fast, but she wanted to leave her aunt’s shop and try for the other job. She knew herself to be undervalued and underpaid, too, and had been keeping a look-out for a better opening for some time. She loved the cinema, what was more, and already felt instinctively that she would be safe with this pleasant, tanned young man whose arms had held her so safely and who smelled of fresh air and sunshine. But first, there was one question he must answer, if she was to go off with him right now. ‘I love the flickers, but I don’t know your name an’ you don’t know mine,’ she pointed out. ‘What’s more, I don’t know what you do with yourself – what’s your job, that you can stroll along the Scottie as if you’d all the time in the world?’
‘Me? Eh, sorry, queen, I never thought.’ He sketched a bow. ‘Jack Ryder at your service, an’ I’m a seaman on the SS Maria-Louise, when I’m not livin’ in Netherfield Road. And you?’
Her father had been a sailor and he had been drowned. She had told her mother she would never go out with a sailor so she should have backed off at that point and invented an excuse not to continue the acquaintance. Instead, she told him that she was Lily Roberts, that she was the youngest of eleven children and lived with her widowed mother in Eastbourne Street. And after that she went into her aunt’s shop and said she’d met a friend and wanted the rest of the afternoon off.
Aunt Em was mean. She said, tartly, that if her niece took the rest of the afternoon off her pay-packet would be short on Saturday night. Equally tartly, Lily told her that since it would be her last one, it didn’t really make all that difference. And walked out, whilst her aunt was still expostulating, and took Jack’s arm and walked away with him up the road in the direction of Great Homer Street.
She had never regretted that moment, never looked back. Jack, informed of her feelings about marrying a sailor, had applied to be taken on at the tram depot, and within three months was driving the big trams all around the city though when the war came he had joined the Navy, ending up decorated for valour. It had been a worrying time, but they had got through it somehow and the small Rose had flourished despite shortages and adored her father more, perhaps, because he was not always on hand.
And now here they were, married a dozen years and as happy, Lily often thought, as anyone could be. She might pretend that she wanted a dainty little girl interested in dresses and playing with dolls, but she would not have changed Rose for all the tea in China and she knew that Jack felt the same.
Lily was still standing by the cooker, reliving the past, when she heard the clatter of Jack’s shoes on the stairs and hastily produced the warmed plate from the bottom of the oven and placed tenderly upon it the pork chops and the onions, fried brown, the thick gravy and the mashed potatoes which were to be tonight’s dinner.
The plate was being stood down on the kitchen table as Jack entered. ‘Me favourite!’ he declared, taking a seat and pulling the food towards him. ‘Have you eaten, Lil?’
When he was going to be late she usually ate with Rose and tonight was no exception. ‘Aye, me an Rose had ours earlier, when she came home from school. But I’ve not had me puddin’, so we’ll share that. It’s a nice treacle duff; I got the suet from the butcher’s on Netherfield Road when I bought the pork chops. Our gal settled down, has she?’
‘Aye. I gave her a bit of a tune an’ she stuck her thumb in her mouth ... she’ll be asleep well before we go up, luv.’
‘Good,’ Lily said, sitting down opposite him and getting her knitting out of the pocket of her wraparound overall. ‘I thought I might tek her out tomorrer when she’s finished her chores. If the weather’s as fine as it’s been today, that is. ’Cos it’ll be winter soon enough, wi’ no chance of goin’ to the park or the seaside,’ she finished.
‘That’s it. You go off an’ have fun,’ Jack said at once. ‘We might go somewhere Sunday, after church, but the chances are it’ll rain. Why not go to Seaforth? Rosie loves the sea.’
‘No, we’ll leave that for when we’re all together,’ Lily said comfortably. ‘We’ll likely tek a tram to Sefton Park; our Rose loves the aviary, an’ we can tek a boat on the lake an’ have our tea there.’
‘Sounds good,’ Jack said. He scraped his plate clean, then sat back with a sigh of contentment. ‘That were good, our Lil! Bring on the puddin’!’
Lily got up and fetched the duff, steaming hot still, from its nook at the back of the oven. ‘Here we are,’ she said, cutting off two slices, one large for Jack and a smaller one for herself. ‘Want extra syrup?’
‘I’ll be so fat I won’t be able to squeeze into me tram,’ Jack protested as his wife put the tin of golden syrup on the table before him. ‘No, luv, this is plenty sweet enough for me.’
When the meal was finished off with a cup of tea, the two of them tackled the washing up and clearing away together, then, hand in hand, went contentedly up to bed. As they undressed, Lily remembered something. ‘If we’re goin’ Sefton Park way, I s’pose I oughter call on me sister Daisy. She might like to come wi’ us, you never know.’
Daisy was the sister nearest in age to Lily and the two of them had remained friends, though Lily saw very little of the rest of her family. But Daisy, like Lily, had married young and borne only one child, though she had not been as lucky as Lily; her husband Bill had gone off with a younger woman some years earlier and Daisy had been left to struggle on as best she could. She had never remarried and Lily was in the habit of meeting her sister a couple of times a week for a chat and a cuppa. It would have been nice had their children been friends, but the age gap was too great, for Daisy’s Mona was sixteen and had been in work for two years. She worked in a grocery shop on Heyworth Street and seemed to spend very little time at home. Sometimes it crossed Lily’s mind that Mona dressed awful smart for a shop assistant and occasionally it occurred to her that she had seen Mona out with several different young men, but she didn’t say so, not even to Jack. The girl was her niece and was probably at the age when she was testing her wings, so to speak. She would settle down one day and because Daisy did not care much for the house there was little incentive for young Mona to spend her time at home. Daisy seemed fond enough of her daughter, but the two of them never went out together as far as Lily knew. Indeed, that was why she continued to visit Daisy so often; someone had to try to get her out of herself.
‘What, to the park? We-ell I suppose she might,’ Jack said doubtfully. Lily knew that he thought Daisy was a real moaner, always complaining, but that was not her sister’s fault. Life had treated her harshly and now Daisy had to work five mornings a week, cleaning in the insurance offices on Exchange Flags. ‘Still, even if she doesn’t want to come out wi’ you I dare say she’d be pleased enough to see the pair of you. I expect you’ve got some bakin’ for her?’
‘A couple o’ cakes an’ a meat pie,’ Lily mumbled. She often took food round to Daisy’s little house and her sister was always touchingly grateful, but Lily knew that Jack thought Daisy ought to bestir herself a bit more. ‘She does bake sometimes, Jack, luv, but it’s a bit hard when you’ve no oven of your own. It means she has to take the cake mix round to Watts to get it cooked, an’ then she has to collect it again. And wi’ just the two of ’em ... well, it’s easier to buy in.’
‘I didn’t say a word,’ Jack said, climbing into bed. ‘You know I don’t grudge Daisy the food or your work, it’s just that I think it would do her good to bake now an’ then. Still an’ all, you’re right about gettin’ it baked. We’ve gorra decent oven, so we do have it easy, I suppose.’
‘We do,’ Lily said eagerly. ‘Daisy can afford to buy wi’ the two of ’em earnin’ an’ Mona must make a regular wage at that grocer’s. But our Dais do love me home-made stuff.’
‘Yes, right, I’m not arguin’,’ Jack said again. ‘I can’t – I ain’t never baked a cake in me life! Now gerrinto bed, woman, an gi’s a cuddle.’
‘You’re awful, Jack,’ Lily said, getting in and snuggling into his arms. ‘Anyone ’ud think we’d been married twelve days, ’stead o’ twelve years! I’m sure our Daisy weren’t never so undignified.’
‘No . . . but look what happened to your Daisy, chuck! No, don’t pull away, I weren’t being nasty but you asked for that, didn’t you? Now you can jest settle down an’ tell me about your day and when you’ve done I’ll tell you about mine. Ready?’
‘Ready,’ agreed Lily. They always spent the last twenty minutes before sleep in swapping experiences. ‘Well, our Rose went off to school wi’ Peggy...’
Next morning, Rose got up, washed, dressed and made her bed. She didn’t make it neatly or tidily – no hospital corners here, no smoothing down of the sheets – but at least she made it and tidied her room, too, in a manner of speaking. Then she hurried downstairs. Her mother was already in the kitchen, having got up to see her father off, and was diligently stirring porridge.
Rose yawned and went over to the stove. ‘Mornin’, Mam! What’s for breakfuss?’
‘Porridge, as if you didn’t know, and toast and tea. Or I could do you an egg, I dare say. How hungry are you?’
‘Eggs-hungry,’ Rose said promptly. ‘Will you have one too, Mam? A boily-egg?’
‘I might at that,’ her mother said. ‘I’ve a few messages for you, then I thought we’d have ourselves an early meal an’ go out this afternoon.’
‘Out? Where?’ Rose said, pricking up her ears. ‘I do love an outin’, Mam.’
‘To Sefton Park . . . only I thought we’d pop in to Aunt Daisy’s first, see if she’d like to come wi’ us.’
‘Oh Mam, not Aunt Daisy’s,’ Rose said, dismayed. ‘You know what she’s like, she’ll keep us there for hours, grumblin’ and moanin’ about everything, an’ she won’t come wi’ us into the park – which is a good thing, if you ask me.’
‘She’s me sister, an’ she’s gorra good deal to grumble about,’ Lily said, taking a couple of eggs from the bowl in the pantry and putting them into a pan. ‘Why don’t you butter some bread, chuck, whiles I cook these eggs?’
‘Awright, Mam. But I’d much rather go straight to the park – you know what Aunt Daisy’s like, it’ll be dark afore we get there if she has her way.’
‘I’ll mek you a promise, young lady. We’ll not stay longer than thirty minutes . . . that’s only a little old half-hour . . . because I’ll say we’re meetin’ a pal o’ yours in Seffy. How’s that?’
‘Well, if we’re goin’ to say that, how about us takin’ a pal really, so you won’t be tellin’ no lies?’ Rose said hopefully. ‘Peggy might want to come ... or Alfie, or Moggy. They all love Seffy like I does.’
‘Get your breakfast et an’ your messages done, an’ we’ll talk about it,’ Lily said prudently, taking refuge in delaying tactics. She wanted her daughter to herself, she didn’t want to cart half the neighbourhood along to the park. ‘Is that bread an’ butter ready, chuck? Right, here’s your egg, then. Now get eatin’!’
By the time Rose and her mother arrived at Aunt Daisy’s small house in Prince Edwin Lane they were both cross: Lily Ryder because she’d been jockeyed into bringing Ricky Elliott, who was a year older than her Rose and a good deal more street-wise. At twelve, Ricky knew all about the seamier side of life and Lily was anxious that he should not pollute the ears of her darling daughter with tales of Saturday night drunkenness in his parents’ pub, or stories of his older brother’s exploits with the ‘young ladies’ who walked the pavement alongside Lime Street station. Ted, Ricky’s eldest brother, was a notorious womaniser.
And Ricky, when told to take himself off to Sefton Park and to wait for them by the aviary, had not been best pleased. ‘Why can’t I come round to Rosie’s aunt’s ’ouse?’ he demanded querulously. ‘I ain’t gorrany money for ices nor nothin’ whiles I wait for yez.’
Rose saw her mother give Ricky a slant-eyed look and knew that the older woman was thinking ‘What a common boy!’ and that didn’t please Rose, either. She and Ricky weren’t best friends, like she and Alfie, but they were good mates and you didn’t like your mam thinking your mates were common just because they said ‘yez’ instead of ‘you’.
‘If he came to Aunt Daisy’s as well, Mam, you could say you’d promised his mam to take him to Seffy and we’s both wanted a go on the boating lake,’ she said craftily. ‘Besides, if there’s two of us we can play in the yard, whiles you an’ Auntie have a chat.’
Lily Ryder could see the sense in it and she did feel, a trifle guiltily, that if young Ricky got into trouble of some sort whilst alone in Sefton Park then his mam would blame her and put it about that ’that stuck-up Mrs Ryder weren’t to be trusted’, so she grudgingly agreed to Ricky accompanying them, then had the satisfaction of seeing the youngsters disappear into the mucky little yard where Daisy kept the dustbins, apparently much preferring it to the inside of Daisy’s small house. At least that way Ricky was less likely to take back a bad report to his mam.
‘Bring ’em in, they can ’ave bread an’ conny-onny, or some cake,’ Daisy said, her eyes fixed greedily on her sister’s basket. She was banking on that basket containing a cake, Lily knew, but it wasn’t poor Daisy’s fault that she wasn’t domesticated. She’d never taken to housework or homemaking and, when you thought about it, why should she? Her man had gone off before they’d been married a twelve-month, she’d borne her child alone and lived alone ever since. And why should she clean her own house when she spent her mornings scrubbing other people’s floors? Lily knew very well what Jack would say – that Daisy was a slut and that was why her man had left – but she didn’t let it influence her feelings for her sister. Daisy had had ill luck whilst she, Lily, had been fortunate in everything she did and Daisy was fond of reminding her of the fact. Nor could Lily deny that she had the best husband in the world and the best daughter, too.
Now, however, she had to think fast so as not to hurt Daisy’s feelings. ‘Oh, lerrem play out,’ she said, squeezing past Daisy’s bulk and entering her untidy kitchen. ‘You know what kids are, Dais, they’d rather be outside than in a palace. And as I said, I promised ’em a go on the boatin’ lake, so I can’t stay long.’
‘You never stay long,’ Daisy grumbled, but Lily ignored the remark and began emptying the basket onto the table. ‘Anyways, I’ll pull the kettle over the flame.’
‘Aye, a cuppa never went amiss,’ Lily agreed. ‘Gorrany milk, queen?’
‘Only conny-onny,’ Daisy said through a mouthful of the rich sponge-cake which her sister had brought. ‘The milkman never calls ’ere.’
‘Never mind, I’ve not got time for drinkin’ tea right now,’ Lily said. She did not take sugar in her tea and disliked condensed milk. ‘You know how it is, Dais; if we don’t gerra move on there’ll be a queue a mile long for the boats an’ I can’t let the kids down.’
‘But you can let your flesh an’ blood down,’ Daisy grumbled. ‘I’m that lonely on a weekend, Lil. Why can’t the kids go to the park by theirselves, eh? You an’ me, we could sit down wi’ our tea an’ have a jangle whiles they play. Why not, eh?’
‘Because I promised, like I said; and besides, Rose is me flesh an’ blood,’ Lily said equably. ‘But why don’t you come wi’ us, eh? We could have that jangle you wanted, and we’ll have a cuppa over there an’ a bun or something. Come along, our Dais. You’d enjoy an outing. And it would do you good to wash up an’ put on some shoes an’ a coat an’ come along wi’ us.’
She waited for Daisy to object to her last remark, for her sister was barefoot and dirty, with food stains down the front of her grey dress and runnels of dirt across her arms. But Daisy just sniffed. ‘No, me feet get quite tired enough walkin’ to work an’ back each mornin’, I’m not givin’ meself more grief, walkin’ when I don’t ’ave to. No, no, you go off an’ enjoy yourselfs, don’t worry about me, I’m used to bein’ alone.’
‘All right, then, I’ll just stay for a cuppa,’ Lily said. ‘Now what’ve you been up to all week, queen? An’ how’s our Mona?’
‘Oh, I been doin’ the usual – workin’, an’ waitin’ on Mona hand an’ foot,’ Daisy said wearily. ‘That reminds me, chuck. Mona wondered if you’d let your Rosie come over ’ere tomorrer, for Sunday dinner. She thought the pair of ’em might go off together in the afternoon. Well, it wouldn’t be just the pair of ’em, because Mona’s gorra lovely young feller, a real gent. Mona’s tek a rare shine to him and she telled him she’d like to settle down, see, and ’ave a nice little place of her own, kids one day, perhaps a car, even. And there’s no gettin’ away from it, Dennis – that’s ‘is name, Dennis Brannigan – is ’ead over ’eels in love with me daughter. Well, I mean, when Mona suggested bringin’ Rosie along there weren’t no ’esitation, he agreed right off, said ‘e’d mug the pair of ’em to a day in New Brighton, Seaforth, anywhere Mona ’ud like to mention. Your Rosie ’ud love that; kids love a day at the sea.’
‘That’s ever so kind of Mona,’ Lily said at once. ‘But Sundays our Jack teks us somewhere, after we’ve been to church, that is. It’ll be the seaside this week, that I do know, for we’ve discussed it and I couldn’t disappoint him, queen. But thanks for the offer, it were a lovely thought.’
‘Why don’t you ask Rosie if she’d rather spend the day with ’er cousin? After all, she can see ’er dad any day of the week,’ Daisy was saying persuasively, and Lily was wondering how to refuse without causing offence when Rose burst into the kitchen. Lily turned to her daughter with considerable relief. ‘Manners,’ she said chidingly. ‘What’s up?’
‘There’s kittens next door,’ Rose said longingly. ‘The lady looked over the wall an’ said we could go an’ tek a look. Have we got time, Mam?’
‘Ten minutes, then we’ll be off,’ Lily said, glad not to have to admit that she had weakly agreed to have a cup of tea with her sister. ‘Shall I give you a shout?’
‘Oh Rosie, luv, your cousin Mona asked me to see if you’d go out wi’ her tomorrer,’ Aunt Daisy said, breaking into the conversation with heightened colour in her cheeks. She plainly considered that she had been snubbed by Lily and was thus taking matters into her own hands. ‘She thought you might like a trip to New Brighton wi’ her an’ her feller.’
‘No thanks, Aunt, Sundays is me dad’s day off,’ Rose said with a promptitude which endeared her doubly to her embarrassed mother. ‘You don’t need to shout us, Mam. The lady’s bringin’ the box into the backyard, we’ll see you in the jigger as you leave Aunt Daisy’s.’
‘An’ we’ll come away wi’ you as soon’s we’ve seen the kittens,’ Ricky said, hovering in the doorway behind Rose. ‘We want to have a good go on the boats. Come on, queen, there’s six of em to see, you know!’
‘Why it makes a difference how many there are I can’t even begin to guess,’ Lily said as the two children scampered out of the yard and round to the next-door house. ‘Let’s mash the tea, Dais, an’ you can tell me what you’ve been up to this past week or two. And don’t be upset because of tomorrer, only Rosie loves to be wi’ her dad an’ five years is a big age difference, really. When they were younger I know they used to play together, your Mona an’ our Rosie, but Mona’s a young woman now and Rosie’s just a kid still. My goodness, this tea’s hot!’
‘So that’s your Aunt Daisy,’ Ricky said thoughtfully as the two of them crouched beside the cardboard box full of patchwork-coloured kittens. ‘She ain’t much like your mam, chuck.’
‘She’s ten year older,’ Rose explained. ‘An’ her old feller left her years back. Her gal’s growed up, an’ all.’
‘Your mam took your aunt cakes an’ that,’ Ricky said after a moment. ‘Don’t she have much gelt, queen?’
‘Yes, she’s gorra job an’ so’s her daughter what lives wi’ her, me cousin Mona. But me aunt don’t bake,’ Rose said briefly. No lover of Aunt Daisy herself, she did not much fancy having to explain her to Ricky, particularly as she did not really understand Aunt Daisy herself, so she strove to change the subject. ‘If you could have one of ’em, which would you choose?’ She pointed to the kittens.
‘Dunno. Kittens is grand, but they grows into cats awful quick,’ Ricky observed. ‘An’ we’ve gorra cat – two, in fact. Ain’t you gorra cat, Rosie?’
‘No. Next door have got one called Socks – I like Socks all right, I wish she was ours. Though I’d like a dog, really. But a kitten would be next best,’ Rose said. ‘But these ones are too little to leave their mam, ain’t they?’
‘Yeah. The lady said another couple o’ weeks,’ Ricky reminded her. ‘I like the one what’s gorra black patch over his eye. An’ the one that’s nearly all white ain’t bad. But I tell you, Rosie, cats ain’t no fun. Try an’ mek em play an’ they either stick their bleedin’ claws into you or stalks off wi’ their noses in the air, honest to God they do. But a dog, now ... if I could have a choice I’d go for a dog every time.’
‘Oh, well, perhaps you’re right,’ Rose said, standing up. She knew, really, that she was unlikely to get a dog or a cat just yet. She had assured her parents that if she had a dog she would take him walking after school each day, but her parents did not seem to believe that she would and, in her heart of hearts, Rose thought they might be right. She did so love playing out, and though a dog would be great fun, it might not think that games of Kick the Can and Relievio were as good as a nice, long walk. And Mam said that she didn’t intend to squander her precious housekeeping money on feeding a dog and if they had one Rose would have to use her pocket money to buy dog’s meat and biscuits. Rose had a number of uses already for her Saturday pennies and thought she might love the dog less if it meant no more Saturday flicks or bags of sweeties. ‘We’d best go back to me aunt’s, Ricky, or Mam will get going on another cuppa an’ we’ll never shift her.’
‘Right you is,’ Ricky said, standing up as well. He called out: ‘Thanks, missus, they’re grand kittens,’ and got an answering shout from the back kitchen before setting off for the jigger and Aunt Daisy’s house once more. ‘Your aunt’s not wearin’ no shoes!’
He sounded shocked, as well he might, Rose thought crossly. She had heard her father calling Aunt a slut and saying he couldn’t make out why Lily didn’t have a word with her about her appearance, but Rose understood only too well. A sister who was older than you by ten years must be nearly like your mother, and you wouldn’t tell your mother to wash and put her shoes on, would you?
‘Me . . . me aunt’s a bit careless, like’ she said apologetically now. ‘Mam says when a woman loses her husband she sometimes gets a bit that way.’ She knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth because in a neighbourhood like theirs, everyone knew everyone else’s business, and several women living in their area had lost husbands one way and another and they hadn’t turned ‘careless like’. And Ricky was on it like a ton of bricks – he would be. Rose was beginning to regret asking him to come to the park – but she never would have done so had she realised that a visit to Aunt Daisy was part of the trip.
‘Mrs Johnson’s a widder – you do mean that your aunt’s a widder, don’t you, Rosie? – an’ she wears shoes . . . she’s smart, is Mrs Johnson. Doesn’t your aunt work? You said she wasn’t short of a bob or two.’
‘She ain’t. Oh dear, Ricky, why must you ask so many bleedin’ questions?’ Rose said, deciding that honesty was the best policy. ‘Me da says me aunt’s a lazy slut, but she’s me mam’s sister, so I can’t say what ... ay-up, here comes me mam, better leave it.’
‘Right,’ said Ricky and began to talk enthusiastically about the kittens.
‘Nice, were they?’ Mam said as they made their way towards the park. ‘I wouldn’t mind a cat – less trouble than a dog.’
‘Ricky says they’re no fun once they’s growed, though,’ Rose pointed out, skipping along beside her mother. ‘What’ll we do first, Mam, when we get to the park? Go on the boats or have us sarnies?’
‘Have our sarnies, you mean,’ her mother said, then bit her lip. She tried not to correct Rose’s speech before other children, since she knew it was important to sound like them and not to be pointed out, jeeringly, as ’the posh one’, or ’the kid what purron airs’. Besides, she was well aware that Rose would not speak carelessly in her own home. ‘Which ’ud you rather, queen?’
‘Boats,’ both children replied in chorus and Ricky added, ‘We gets to eat sarnies every day, mostly, Miz Ryder, but I ain’t never been on the boats in Seffy.’
‘Right, then boats first it is,’ Mrs Ryder said. ‘I’m fair parched an’ longin’ for a nice cup o’ tea, but I agree, we’ll go on the boats first – or rather you two will. I shall sit on a seat an’ watch.’
‘I thought you had tea wi’ Aunt Daisy,’ Rose said. ‘You telled her to put the kettle over the flame.’
‘Aye, but she doesn’t have milk, only conny-onny, so I had it black an’ it don’t quench me thirst the same,’ her mother explained. ‘Look – there’s the park gates! First one there gets a penny!’
Jack Ryder was driving his tram past Lime Street station when he saw Mona. She would, he reflected wryly, have been difficult to miss. She was wearing a bright scarlet coat, a small green hat and very high-heeled shoes, and her skirt was so short that he could see her knees. She was standing at the tram stop and as his vehicle approached she raised her eyes and saw him. For a moment she looked startled, then she gave him a practised smile and a small wave and, as he stopped, moved casually away, as though she had not been waiting for a tram at all.
But she had, Jack knew that. She was with a middle-aged gent in a bowler hat and a dark overcoat. A businessman of some sort, Jack presumed. Years older than herself, of course ... oh Gawd, why had he noticed her? He was pretty sure, after a number of such encounters with Mona, always accompanied by a different feller, that his niece was no better than she should be, but while he could shut his eyes to it he would. He couldn’t understand why she did it, either. Street-walking was dangerous, as well as against the law, and Mona had a job which brought in regular, if not good, money each week.
Daisy had spoiled her when she was a kid, Jack remembered that all too well. Fancy clothes, lots of trips out, pictures whenever she wanted to go. Sometimes he wondered how Daisy had managed that... if Mona’s present behaviour was ‘like mother, like daughter’, whether Daisy had gone with sailors to make a bit extra after her husband had left her, but naturally, he could not voice the thought aloud. Lily, he knew, would be outraged and terribly upset with him, and even if he proved himself right she would be dreadully hurt.
But it was why he didn’t like her taking the kid round there. Children weren’t stupid and his Rose was as bright as a button. If she twigged what Mona was up to... well, suppose she thought that since her mam took her round to Daisy’s place and let her chatter to Mona such behaviour was acceptable? She was his heart’s darling, was Rosie, he wouldn’t have her getting the wrong idea, not even if, in the end, it meant that he had to put his foot down over Daisy, tell Lily what he believed and make her see that, for their daughter’s sake, they would have to steer clear of both Daisy and Mona.
The trouble was, Jack liked a quiet life and he liked the people he loved to be comfortable. Lily behaved towards Daisy as though she were the elder, he sometimes thought. She was forever going round there with food she had baked, she spent time with her sister even when she was busy herself, she gave her presents. Sometimes it was a pretty blouse which she would have toiled over for nights and nights, at others a pair of thick woollen stockings for winter wear, or some embroidered pillowcases, or a thick, soft towel to take to the bath-house. Not that Daisy ever visited the bath-house so far as Jack knew; she always looked unwashed to him.
An elderly woman tottered across the tram’s path and Jack, who had not been going fast anyway, moved the handle to cut the power and slow them down, then gradually built up speed once more as the road cleared. Daisy Mullins had been a thorn in his flesh ever since he and Lily had first met, and her disapproval of him – and his of her – had not become less with the years. But he had no right – or reason – to grumble, because he rarely saw Daisy now. She had grown lazier and lazier with the years, and for a long time now it had been too much trouble for her to come to Cornwall Street, and because of his work – and his feelings – Jack never went round to Prince Edwin Lane, either.
Yet it still made him uneasy when Lily took their daughter to visit the Mullinses, which was absurd, really. Rose didn’t even like her aunt and the age difference was too great for her to have had much to do with Mona.
‘Rotunda!’ Jack was jerked out of his thoughts by his conductor’s shout combined with the ringing of the bell and he turned the wheel which applied the brake, at the same time reducing the power, and drew to a halt by the queue which waited to embark.
It was a pleasant afternoon and Jack looked kindly at the throng outside the theatre. Some must have been to the matinée performance, others had been shopping, others still simply enjoying a stroll in the sunshine with the fresh breeze from the Mersey bringing the river and sea smells to their nostrils. Lily and Rose, he reflected, would be at Sefton Park by now, perhaps even on the boating lake. He imagined that Rose would be trying to row whilst Lily lay back in the boat and laughed at her daughter’s efforts. Not with the greatest effort of the imagination could he put Daisy into the scene and this cheered him. He told himself that she wasn’t a bad woman, just idle and feckless, and that probably Mona wasn’t a bad girl, either. She just liked male company and because she was a pretty girl and spent all her money on pretty clothes, she got male company. But the feller she’d been with when he’d seen her earlier wasn’t a young blade, he was a stolid, middle-aged, middle-class office worker, by the look of him. He had looked . . . married, Jack decided uneasily. And he had been holding Mona’s arm ... as though ... as though . . . well, as though he had just bought her and was anxious to hang on to his bargain.
I’ll have a word with Lily this evening when I get home, Jack decided abruptly. There’s something very odd going on and I don’t like it. If Mona is going with men for money – even in his own mind he would not use the words which would utterly condemn his niece – then it’s time Daisy had a word with her daughter. And since he had to assume that Daisy did not know what her child was up to it was time that Lily asked a few questions and told her older sister a thing or two.
Having made up his mind to act, Jack was able to concentrate on his job once more and was happy to do so. At the next stop he pulled out the heavy metal pocket-watch, which helped him to keep pace with his schedule, and consulted it. When they reached Hopwood Street he would have a pull at his bottle of tea, because the heat would get at him, else. He glanced back over his shoulder and old Georgie Allen, his conductor, made a gesture as of one drinking. Jack grinned back and nodded; if he was hot sitting out here in the open, with the breeze of his going helping to cool him down, then poor Georgie, wedged in the middle of a large crowd of sweaty passengers, trying to collect their fares and hand them the correct tickets, must be parboiled. And since they were five minutes early they could have a break at Hopwood Street and share his cold tea.
‘Hopwood!’ shouted Georgie, fighting his way to the back of the vehicle and tugging on the leather strap to ring the bell. ‘Come along, folks, there’s no room for them outside to gerron till you’re off, y’know, so move along the car please!’
Once the descending passengers were out of the way and the new ones aboard, Georgie came round and hopped up onto Jack’s running board. The two men had been working together for long enough to know the ropes when a short stop was indicated and Georgie had brought both their tea-bottles with him as well as a couple of cheese and pickle barms which they had brought with them.
‘Cor, wack, I wouldn’t mind bein’ a driver in this weather,’ Georgie said, mopping his brow with a large red spotted handkerchief. ‘It’s ’ellish ’ot inside, I’m tellin’ yez.’
‘Oh, you conductors are never satisfied,’ Jack said with a chuckle. ‘You din’t like it when we ’ad open trams, you said it were cold, now you don’t like the nice glass winders! Think back to January, ole feller; I don’t recall you envyin’ me then.’
‘I can’t think o’ nothin’ but the bleedin’ ’eat. It’s like bein’ a loaf in one o’ Sample’s ovens,’ Georgie groaned. ‘Still an’ all, it’s better out ’ere. An’ the wust o’ the sunshine’ll be over soon. Where’s your tiddler, then? Gone to the seaside, I dessay?’
‘No, they gone boatin’ at Sefton Park,’ Jack told his mate. ‘Gi’s a swig from the bottle, ole feller!’
‘Boatin’!’ Georgie sighed, handing the bottle over and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘I wouldn’t mind that either, Jack. But be the time this shift ends all I’ll want will be me bed. Oh well, at least I’ll be cooler there.’
‘And tomorrer you can tek your Nellie down to New Brighton on the train,’ Jack reminded him. ‘Or into the park, if you’ve a mind.’
‘Ha! Nellie’s mam an’ dad’s comin’ for their dinners to our place,’ Georgie said gloomily. ‘Allus the way, ain’t it? When it rains we’s free as birds, but the moment the sun shines the old folk decide to mek our day an’ come visitin’. You don’t know ’ow lucky you are, ole man, that your Lil’s the youngest an’ ain’t got no parents livin’.’
‘She’s gorra sister,’ Jack said gloomily. He glanced at Georgie. He and the older man had worked together now for ten years and trusted one another absolutely. I’ve gorra problem there, if the truth were known.’
‘Oh aye?’ Georgie said, interested. ‘What’s wrong wi’ her sister, then?’
‘Well, I ain’t sure, but. . .’ And Jack proceeded to tell Georgie his fears.
Georgie listened seriously, then whistled. ‘An’ you don’t want your Rose mixin’ wi’ a gal what’s no better’n she should be?’ he asked at length. ‘Nor you don’t want your Lil gettin’ any thicker wi’ her older sister. But do Lil know what’s goin’ on, Jack? She don’t strike me as the sort o’ woman to put up wi’ behaviour like that.’
‘I don’t think she knows, an’ I don’t much fancy tellin’ her, ’cos I can’t prove a bleedin’ thing,’ Jack admitted. ‘But I seen Mona wi’ another bloke earlier, Georgie. Not a young feller, an old one. I’ll have to tell Lil, I can see that.’
‘You should,’ Georgie said at once. ‘She’ll likely thank you once she’s over the shock of it. And you’ll feel better in yourself once it’s out in the open. No good bottlin’ things up, Jack. That’s not your style. You tell Lil. You’ll feel better for it.’
‘You sound like a quack recommendin’ a cure,’ Jack said with a grin, then leaned over and smote Georgie’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, wack, I know you’re right an’ I’ll do it this very evenin’. An’ now we’d best get goin’ or we’ll lose the five minutes we’ve gained.’
‘Ricky, if you splash me once more I’ll bleedin’ drown you,’ Rose said threateningly, as Ricky dug in the oars and sent water cascading into her lap. ‘This is me best dress an’ you’ll shrink it till it’s only big enough for a doll. Let me row, will you?’
‘Women can’t row, nor gals,’ Ricky said breathlessly, clinging grimly to his oars and digging them deeper into the water. ‘’Sides, I were featherin’, like they do in that there boat race they holds in London. You’re meant to skim the water, so’s a feather o’ foam comes up. I jest digged a bit too deep, that’s all.’
‘Let me have a go,’ Rose repeated. ‘My mam paid for the boat, so I should have a go. Come on, swap over, will ye?’
‘Your mam paid so’s I could gi’ you a nice ride,’ Ricky insisted, rather red in the face and very wet himself but clinging grimly to his male rights. ‘Besides, if you muck about an’ try to change places very likely we’ll both git soaked . . . an’ gals can’t swim.’
‘I can,’ Rose said. ‘On me front an’ on me back. So there. Oh, come on, Ricky, or the feller’ll be bawlin’ “Come in number twenty”, an’ it’ll be too late for me to ’ave a go.’
‘We-ell, we’d best go in to the side then, if we’re goin’ to swap,’ Ricky said, abruptly caving in. ‘It’s time I had a good laugh, any road, an’ you tryin’ to row is bound to be a laugh. What’s more, I could do wi’ me tea, couldn’t you? It’s hungry work, rowin’ a big lump like you all round the boatin’ lake.’
‘You cheeky bugger,’ gasped Rose, rising wrathfully from her seat and completely forgetting that they were in a boat. ‘I’ll gi’ you a thick ear for that, Ricky Elliott. I can’t think why I asked me mam if you could come along wi’ us, because you’re rude an’ horrible.’
‘Well, awright, you aren’t a big lump on land, I give you that,’ Ricky said, shipping his oars and accidentally hitting Rose on the ankle with one of them. ‘But you feel a big lump in the boat. . . oh, oh, don’t, Rosie! Why d’you have to git such a cob on, an’ keep hittin’ all the time? That’s typical of a girl. Look, you’ll regret it if you turn the bleedin’ boat over, I’ll mek sure o’ that!’
As soon as the boat got near enough to the bank Rose had risen to her feet and clumped her companion hard across the head with the flat of her hand. Since he was still seated and encumbered by the oars, she was able to get in several more telling blows before Ricky pulled himself together and swung an oar threateningly at her legs. It found its mark and Rosie shrieked and snatched at it. She was tugging hard when Ricky very unsportingly let go. With nothing to pull against Rose tipped immediately backwards and plunged, oar and all, into the water.
‘Oh Gawd, I knew it ’ud happen,’ Ricky said and knelt in the bows to pull her out. The boat, which was round and tippery, promptly upended and both children found themselves struggling in the warm and shallow water.
‘Look what you done, Ricky, me best dress is ruined!’ Rose shrieked, regaining the surface and staggering to her feet. ‘It’s all mud under there . . . Ricky, I said I were goin’ to drown you an’ I meant it. Hold still for a second ...’
She grabbed at him and the two of them grappled furiously with each other for a moment, then Ricky pulled her to the bank and sat her down on it. ‘Your mam’s watchin’, Rosie,’ he said warningly. ‘’Sides, if anyone gets drownded it’ll be you, ’cos I’m a year older an’ a good bit stronger, so stop bein’ such a marred kid an’ get back into the boat an’ you can show me what you can do.’
Rose, dripping, climbed back into the boat, sat down and picked up the oars. ‘But Mam’s not lookin’ at us,’ she informed him. ‘If she’d seen the boat tip she’d ha’ shruck out; she’s probably sittin’ over there wi’ her eyes shut, havin’ a bit of a snooze. Come on then, gerrin!’
‘Well . . . awright, awright, fair’s fair,’ Ricky said, climbing back into the boat and lowering himself gingerly down in the thwarts, with an anxious eye on the oarswoman sitting grimly on the centre seat. ‘You have a go now, then . . . an’ we’ll see what we’ll see.’
Rose began to row and was making a reasonable job of it when she suddenly began to giggle. The giggle turned into a laugh and Rose leaned on her oars for a moment, then sighed deeply and began to row once more. ‘When Mam sees us she’s goin’ to go mad,’ she said conversationally. ‘You’re older’n me, so you’ll cop it worse, I dare say. What’ll we tell her?’
‘That we were changing places so that you could row an’ the boat tipped up. It’s as near the truth as meks no difference,’ Ricky said after a moment. ‘My, you do look like a drowned rat, gal! That frock’ll never be the same again, that I do know.’
‘It’ll wash,’ Rose said, suddenly cheerful. She looked up from her own mud-streaked skirt to examine her companion’s equally muddy and dishevelled state. ‘You ain’t no oil paintin’ yourself, I tell you. What’ll your mam say, then?’
‘Norra lot, so long as I’m dried out afore she sees me,’ Ricky said indifferently. ‘I puts all me clobber down for washin’ on a Sat’day night, it’ll just get washed, that’s all.’
‘Then we might as well row back to Mam, an’ get outside o’ that tea she promised us,’ Rose said. She began to row faster. ‘I’m rare hungry now – I could eat all them sarnies to meself, never mind sharin’.’
‘I know. It’s the rowin’. I’m so hungry me belly thinks me throat’s cut,’ Ricky said amiably. ‘You’re doin’ well, queen. I don’t know as I could row much faster meself.’
And on these amicable terms the two returned to Mrs Ryder and the sandwiches.
I wonder why that Mona wanted our Rosie along tomorrow, Lily asked herself as she unwrapped the sandwiches and helped herself to an iced bun. She meant to buy the children ices and a drink at the café later, when she got herself a nice hot cup of tea, but the sandwiches and little buns would keep the wolf from the door until then. And who is this young feller Daisy was so keen to tell me about? I’ve seen Mona with half a dozen different fellers, and truth to tell not all of them could be described as young by a long chalk. And what young woman wants a kid cousin along on a date? It’s got me in a rare puzzle, because Mona’s always had her own way and I don’t imagine she wants a kid like our Rosie along. Unless she’s really interested in this man, and . . . and hopes she’ll seem more respectable, like, if she turns up with her cousin.
The next question, however, was one she preferred not to ask herself, but she knew she must if Daisy was going to continue to pester her to let Rose go around now and then with Mona. If Mona needed a young cousin to make her seem like any other respectable young woman then what was she hiding? Was it true what she, Lily, was beginning to suspect? That Mona was a member of the oldest profession in the world in her spare time?
The thought was a horrid one, but it would have to be faced. I can’t ask Daisy outright, Lily told herself, because that would be the final straw. She was already aware that the only way she retained Daisy’s affection was by the constant stream of small gifts and Daisy was the only member of her large family with whom she was still in touch. She had been so much younger than the others that they had scarcely seemed like brothers and sisters; only Daisy had still lived at home by the time Lily was old enough to go to school and Daisy had been carelessly kind to her then. Now, of course, it was different. Daisy was greedy and lazy, she knew that, and her sister sensed Jack’s disapproval and consequently made no secret of the fact that she was not particularly fond of him. But she wanted Lily to go round to her house and she would have liked to have been invited to Cornwall Street, too. And the reason she wanted a closer relationship, if the truth were known, was in order to show folk that she and Mona were a normal, respectable mother and daughter whose relatives exchanged visits frequently. Lily had realised some time ago that many neighbours and friends must have begun to wonder just why Mona wore such showy clothes and spent her evenings wandering around the city. They must have jangled amongst themselves and come to the obvious conclusion. And now, from what she could gather. Mona had met a really decent young man and she wanted him to see her not as a flighty piece no better than she should be, but as a respectable young woman who took her little cousin along on a date and had to be home at a reasonably early hour.
So really, I ought to go along with it and encourage Mona to take Rose to meet this feller, Lily thought uneasily, staring unseeingly across the bright, reflecting water of the huge lake. She’s me niece, after all, and I ought to want the best for her. And the best is a respectable marriage to a decent feller, so why am I hesitating?
The truth was, she knew that she did not have much faith in Mona’s apparent eagerness to get married. The girl was too young for settling down and if she had been spending as much as she appeared to have done on herself, she’d not take kindly to the restrictions of being a wife. The thought of sticking to one man instead of being the darling of a dozen might not appeal once the novelty wore off, either. So by and large, it seemed sensible to keep Rosie well clear of whatever imbroglio her sister and niece were cooking up.
Having made up her mind to this effect, Lily brought herself back to the present and stood up to stare across the lake. The children were out of sight, but the lake was large and hunger would bring them back to her soon enough. The man who hired out the boats was rowing off into the middle distance, shouting through his loud-hailer, and though Lily could not hear what number he was shouting and had in any case forgotten which boat the children had chosen, she guessed that they would be coming ashore any time now.
Accordingly, she walked down to the water’s edge to wait, deciding that she really ought to confide in Jack about Mona. It wasn’t as if he ever saw her sister, or her niece so far as she could tell, and he would agree, she knew, that Rose and Mona were best apart. The trouble was that she didn’t want to set him against Daisy and the knowledge that Daisy was prepared to use Rose for her own ends would not exactly endear her sister to Jack.
She was still mulling over the problem when the boat came into view with Rose at the oars now, vigorously rowing. Lily watched them right up to the bank and exclaimed, ‘My Gawd, whatever have you two been doin’? You’re both drenched – and mud up to the eyebrows, what’s more! Come on, what’s happened?’
‘The boat tipped up,’ Rose said in a small voice. ‘I wanted to row and Ricky said we shouldn’t swap over, but we went right in close to the bank and stood up, and . . .’
‘Well, it’s a warm day, thank the Lord,’ Lily said resignedly. ‘Come on out of it an’ we’ll eat our food. I dare say by the time we finish you’ll be dry, if not clean!’
‘You are kind, Mam,’ Rose said gratefully, clambering out of the boat and actually wringing water out of her gingham skirt. ‘And it’s quite nice to be wet an’ cool on a hot day, ain’t it, Ricky?’
‘It ain’t bad,’ Ricky acknowledged. ‘Tell you what, Mrs Ryder, why don’t me an’ Rosie have a race to the ice-cream kiosk an’ back? We’ll dry off sooner if we run.’
‘Well, run wi’ a sandwich, then,’ Lily said. ‘Then run back an’ tek another. When you’ve dried off I’ll give you both a brush-down – not that I think it’ll do much good, but at least I can try.’
*
‘I like your mam,’ Ricky panted as they reached the ice-cream kiosk for the third time and turned to race back again. ‘There’s a lorra women would have nagged somethin’ rotten at the sight of us. An’ them butties is good – what’s in ‘em?’
‘Cheese an’ Mam’s home-made chutney,’ Rose said proudly. ‘Come on, I reckon one more run an’ we’ll be dry enough to stop runnin’ an’ start on the cake!’