Later the same day found Colm walking along the pavement with his shoulders hunched against the light summer rain and wondering, not for the first time, what his father’s new lodgings were really like. Sean had been delighted with the change and had praised St Domingo Vale and the Ryders to the sky, but Colm had not been deceived. His mother wanted them living in the same house and his father was ashamed to write home yet again admitting that the two of them were still apart, albeit close. Colm didn’t see why he should move just because his mammy worried about him, and him man enough to send money home and take care of himself, so when Sean had suggested that he, too, should move to this place in St Domingo Vale his first impulse had been to say that he was happy were he was and wouldn’t be movin’, thanks very much. But in fact it wasn’t really true. Sure, there were other young fellers of his age sharing the cheap dormitory-style rooms, with a dozen men all sleeping on mattresses on the floor, but the main reason he couldn’t move was money. He hadn’t been earning enough to go for more palatial surroundings; he simply had to be content with what he’d got.
But as time went by he had started to long more and more for a bit of privacy and a decent hot meal of an evening, instead of whatever rubbish old Mr Backhouse served up, and the company of working men whose main preoccupation was to get to the pub and begin gargling down the ale. Colm was beginning to dream, not of home nor of palaces, but quite simply somewhere to wash his clothing, which wasn’t crowded with other fellers all doing the same, and a yard that wasn’t hard up against the railway line so that nothing you washed ever came indoors again clean. And, of course, a decent meal when you came in hungry after after a long day’s work.
Now, with his new job, it was a possibility. Although navvying had paid better here than many a job in Ireland, it still didn’t pay well enough to afford decent lodgings, and though Sean had made it plain that he would help his son financially, Colm wasn’t having any of that, not he. He valued his independence now and didn’t want to have to ask his father before he went out to the pub for a few beers, or to the cinema with a girl, nor did he want his every doing reported to his mammy and little sister. But he’d recently changed his job and was making a bit more money, so why not at least go round and see what he thought of the room in St Domingo Vale? It was a small room, but wouldn’t he be pleased and happy with any room if it meant a bit of privacy and a good meal of an evening.
Sean was a quiet man who did not interfere with his son, but Colm knew how very pleased his father would be to have him in the same house. Pride and a lack of the means to change might have kept Colm in his miserable dockside digs, but now he could afford a decent place, so felt he could give his father the satisfaction of sharing the same house. After all, it was because of Sean that he was earning a better wage, and it would be thanks to his father that he had a chance of these good lodgings. Why continue to turn his face against a move merely because he felt he should not be beholden? After all, if a man could not be properly grateful to his own father, to whom could he be grateful?
So Colm continued to walk through the rain, letting it soak into his thick thatch of curly black hair and trickle down the sides of his lean face, as he reflected that he hardly ever thought of his old life at Switzer’s now. It hadn’t been much of a life, running errands for a bunch of old women and looking up to a smarmy feller simply because he had stuck at the one dead-end job for what seemed to him now like centuries. He didn’t even regret leaving Dublin, far less the pert and unreliable Nell. He was, he considered, well out of that, for since his arrival in Liverpool he had gone out with one or two girls and had enjoyed their company without once wanting to make it a permanent relationship. Nell, he occasionally considered, had done him a good turn when she had let him down the way she had.
Not that he thought about her, or his old life, often. Indeed, working as he was, he didn’t have much time or energy for introspection. As his father had predicted, he enjoyed using his strength, though it had left him worn out at first. It was only as time went on that he began to look around for amusement in the evenings and on Sundays, when his time was his own. There were cinemas, museums, the seaside and the country, but best of all were the dance-halls. There were quite a few of them in Liverpool and they were not frequented by many of the large army of Irish who lived around the docks, but Colm and one or two of his friends loved to dance, and to meet the bright, neatly dressed local girls.
‘Never tell ’em you’re Irish until they’ve got to know you.’ his friends advised. ‘Sure an’ isn’t every one o’ the little darlin’s huntin’ for a feller wit’ a pocket full o’ money to spend on ’em. An’ don’t they believe, the little darlin’s, that us Irish send all our wages home? So do like the rest of us an’ tell ’em you’re from the Isle o’ Man, or the Shetlands ... most of ’em seem to t’ink ’tis true.’
‘What? An’ you wit’ a brogue on you as broad as Delaney’s donkey?’ Colm had said incredulously. ‘They’re coddin’ you, Paddy!’
But codding or not, he performed well enough to find plenty of partners at the dance-halls and told himself, as he paused to cross Heyworth Street, that he did not intend to stop going out of an evening and at weekends even if he was in the same house as his father.
‘Colm! Hey, hold on, feller! And aren’t you the one to rush away now? Waitin’ for you, I was, be the entrance, only Mac said he t’ought you’d left earlier.’
Colm turned and grinned self-consciously as his father strode towards him. ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ he said. ‘I was later than I expected so I thought you’d have gone on. Well, we’ll walk together.’
‘A good thing I hurried, an’ caught you up,’ Sean grumbled as he drew abreast of his son. ‘What would Mrs Ryder think, wit’ you turnin’ up ahead o’ me, an’ me not there to introduce you?’
Colm bit back the words She’d think I was a man growed, an’ what more natural than that, Daddy? and sighed instead. ‘Never mind, we’re together now,’ he said diplomatically. ‘Only ... s’pose I don’t like the room, Daddy? Or ... or the house. Or s’pose Mrs Ryder doesn’t care for me at all at all?’
His father laughed shortly. ‘She’ll say the room’s took,’ he said promptly. ‘An’ if you t’ink it won’t suit you’ll go away sayin’ you’ll be in touch later an’ I’ll have to mek up some cock-an’-bull story to fit. Awright?’
‘Sure,’ Colm said humbly. ‘T’anks, Daddy.’
‘I wish it weren’t rainin’,’ Sean remarked as they crossed another road and turned their feet towards a pleasant-looking road ahead. ‘I’d rather you’d seen it in sunshine, but you wouldn’t come when I asked.’
‘That’s right,’ Colm said. ‘But I’m here now, Daddy. An’ I don’t mind the rain. I like it. It reminds me of home, so it does.’
Sean laughed. ‘Oh well,’ he said resignedly. ‘What d’you t’ink o’ the road? We’re half-way down.’
Colm looked carefully round him, realising for the first time that this was a good neighbourhood, with nice houses. They were three storeys high and they all had small gardens – and the road was wide and quiet – with a sort of clean and tidy brightness about many of them which Colm did not associate with lodging houses. He said as much to his father, who nodded seriously.
‘You’re right there. So far as I know, we’re the only lodgin’ house in our part o’ the Vale, most o’ the others is still occupied by families. D’you know which one is ours?’
Colm felt like saying none of ’em; we live in Dublin but again he swallowed the unwise words. It was nice, in a way, that his father felt so comfortable with the Ryders that he thought of it as home. And he knew very well where Sean’s loyalties lay. It was just that because the two of them spent so much time here in Liverpool and so little in Dublin, they were bound to develop a kind of affection for their Liverpool surroundings. So he didn’t voice his thoughts but said: ‘No, Daddy. Shall we have a guessin’ game, see which one I’d like the best?’
‘No contest,’ Sean said. He sounded smug. ‘I’ll let you guess if you like, but it’s the best house in the Vale, so it is. Go on ... we’re getting’ close now.’
‘The one wit’ the tree?’ Colm asked. ‘No, it can’t be that one, it’s far too grand, it must be ...’
‘You’re right, young feller, the one wit’ the tree,’ Sean said. ‘Aren’t the steps the reddest you ever did see? But we’ll use the footscraper, or they won’t be red but covered wit’ mud! Close the gate behind yous.’
Colm gaped, then obeyed. No wonder his father had been so keen for him to share his good fortune! But there was bound to be a catch, of course. The place would be all cold linoleum and peeling paintwork inside, with an overpowering smell of cabbage and a chill like death. And Mrs Ryder would be old and cross, and would wear black – she was a widow woman, his father had told him that – and she would hobble on bunioned feet and grumble if he laughed aloud or talked above a whisper.
They trod carefully up the steps and his father turned the doorknob and the heavy door with its multi-coloured glass panel swung open. ‘It’s never locked at this time o’ the evenin’,’ Sean said, stepping over the threshhold. ‘Not wit’ most of us comin’ in from our work around now. So ...’
He stopped speaking. A shriek of remarkable intensity had rung out and a girl shot into the hall, yelling as she ran, ‘Shut the bleedin’ door, will ya! Oh Gawd, here he comes ... quick, quick, shut that bloody door!’
There was a flash of colour above their heads and instinctively, as his father slammed the front door shut, Colm jumped and grabbed. There was a shriek even more shrill than the previous one, a scattering of coloured feathers and Colm’s hand closed around a soft and yielding object even as something sharp and painful jabbed into his whitened knuckles. ‘Ouch!’ he roared. ‘Stop bitin’ me, ye spalpeen, or I’ll pull every feather out of your ugly body!’
‘Don’t hurt him!’ shouted the girl. ‘Don’t you go squeezin’ him or I’ll drag every hair from your bleedin’ head! He’s Mr Garnett’s, an’ Mr Garnett’s comin’ this evenin’ to see him! Don’t you go let ’im go, either!’
Even in the heat of the moment, Colm thought that such contradictory instructions were a little unfair, but he hung onto the bird, which presently stopped hacking away at his knuckles and said, in a lugubrious voice: ‘Poor ole Gully wants a peanut ... Shut that bleedin’ door!’
The girl giggled. She was a slender, curly-haired kid of about sixteen, Colm guessed, a mere child, but she’d a nasty tongue on her, nevertheless. Swearing away like any old navvy, he thought, horrified. Why, if his little sister had behaved like that his mammy would soon have washed out her mouth with soap.
But someone else had now erupted into the hallway; a pretty woman in her forties, Colm judged. She said in a trembling, scandalised tone: ‘Was that you I heered swearin’, Rosie Ryder! I’ll give you a slap you won’t forget if ...’ Her eyes had moved past the girl now and seen Colm, and her face was transformed by a beaming smile. ‘Oh, you’ve got him! Oh, thanks ever so ... that bird’s been on the loose since ten this mornin’ an’ I’ve been out of me mind wi’ worry! Here, we’ve put the cage in the front window again, hopin’ to get him back in it, only Agueda remembered the chimbley, an’ every time we went towards the kitchen door, he’d leave the peanuts we’d scattered an’ zoom across as if he couldn’t wait to escape. I tell you, Rosie, we’ve had the devil of a day wi’ the ole ... ole bird.’
‘He only went for the kitchen door because he wanted to go back into his cage, I expect, Auntie Lil,’ another voice broke in and Colm, turning, beheld a vision. Tall, slim, golden-haired, the prettiest young woman he had ever seen stood in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing a navy-blue macintosh with a cheeky little Robin Hood hat on her head and she was shaking out a scarlet umbrella and smiling in his general direction. Colm smiled back and nearly let go of the parrot, but not quite. He had not forgotten the fearful threats uttered by young Rosie ... but who was this? Sean had said two girls lived there, he had not said that one of them was a vision!
‘That’s as maybe, Mona,’ the woman addressed as Auntie Lil said. ‘But we’ve got this young feller to thank for catchin’ him. Could you bring him in here an’ put him in his cage, please?’ She flung open a door and gestured into the large and comfortable furnished room within, then turned to Sean. ‘Oh, Mr O’Neill, me wits have gone beggin’ ... this’ll be your son Colm, what’s thinkin’ of takin’ a room here. Oh, whatever will he think of us, actin’ like mad things an’ our Rosie screamin’ like a fishwife an’ swearin’ like ... like nobody’s business!’
‘It’s awright, anyone would swear – an’ scream – over a parrot on the loose,’ Colm said, smiling forgivingly at the youngster. He had been annoyed with her for speaking to him as though he, and not she, were the younger, but the mere presence of the vision had made such things of no significance. He had already made up his mind that come hell or high water he would take the room. The vision had taken off her macintosh to reveal the sort of figure normally only seen in advertisements or on the silver screen.
She was really something – to live in the same house as her would be – well, it would be really something as well!
‘Oh well, Gully’s awright now,’ the girl Rosie said, as Colm put the parrot carefully into the cage and as carefully shut and latched the small wickerwork door. She had accompanied him into the room, presumably feeling some responsibility for the bird and for his handling of him, and now she looked quickly down at her feet and up at Colm. ‘I’m sorry if I were a bit sharp, like,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I lost me rag back there. An’ I’m sorry he bit you an’ all; I don’t think he’s ever bit anyone before.’
‘Sure an’ that doesn’t matter,’ Colm said mildly. ‘For I’ve not been bit be a parrot before. But I don’t bear a grudge.’ He bent over the cage and put a finger through the bars, rubbing the bird’s colourful red-and-blue head. ‘T’was fear which made him strike, not wickedness.’
Sean, who had not opened his mouth whilst all this was going on, said deprecatingly: ‘Gully’s a nice bird, so he is. Him an’ me’s gettin’ to know one another, eh Gully?’ The bird, seeming to notice him for the first time, cocked his head on one side and sang, in a deep, cracked baritone which Colm recognised at once as his father’s voice, ‘Cockles and mussels alive, alive-o!’
Everyone laughed and Sean pushed a peanut through the bars and turned to the small group standing in the doorway. ‘Well an’ hasn’t it been a meetin’ an’ a half, now?’ he enquired. ‘An’ me son simply wantin’ a quick look at the room, so he does.’
‘And so he shall,’ Mrs Ryder said at once. ‘And he’ll stay to supper an’ all, him havin’ saved our bacon so to speak over Gully here. What I’d ha’ done if he’d gorrout of that door ...’
‘Well, he didn’t, Mam,’ the girl called Rosie said. She spoke rather pertly, Colm thought. ‘Shall I tek Mr O’Neill – Mr Colm O’Neill I mean – up an’ show him the room for you? Only you’ll be wantin’ to get the supper on the go, what wi’ Mr Garnett poppin’ by later an’ all.’
‘Thanks, Rosie,’ her mother said with obvious relief.
But the older girl spoke up at once, taking the younger gently by the arm and holding her back when she would have begun to mount the stairs. ‘Don’t you bother yourself, Rosie. I’m goin’ up to change out of me shop stuff, I’ll show Mr O’Neill the room.’
‘Thanks, Mona,’ the younger girl said at once, and followed her mother out of the hallway and into the kitchen, but Sean came up the stairs in his son’s wake, much to that son’s disapproval. He did not think he would be able to make much headway with the beautiful vision whilst his father was about. But then, if he was going to live in the same house he need not rush, nor show his hand too soon.
Accordingly, the two men followed the swinging bob of golden hair up the first and second flights of stairs and into a pleasant room, then glanced about them. The window was uncurtained, but the panes sparkled with cleanliness and the walls, though bare, were whitewashed icily bright. The narrow bed was covered by a gaily coloured patchwork quilt and there was a washstand complete with ewer and basin in blue-and-white china, a white-painted wooden chair, a chest of drawers with a square of mirror on the top and a line of hooks on which, presumably, one hung one’s jacket and trousers.
‘Sure an’ isn’t it a dacint room now?’ Sean said, glancing at his son. ‘Look at the view, Colm!’
To avoid having to say anything Colm went over and stared out of the window. It was a view, too – he could see hundreds and hundreds of patched and vari-coloured roofs and, away in the distance, the faint blue line of distant hills. ‘It’s a grand view,’ he said obediently and meant it. ‘And it’s a good little room an’ all, Miss Ryder.’
‘I’m not Miss Ryder, I’m Mona Mullins,’ the young woman said. ‘Me an’ Rosie’s first cousins – our mams are sisters. An’ you’d best call me Mona, anyways, ’cos we’s goin’ to have to call you Colm. Can’t manage wi’ two Mr O’Neills, you know!’
‘Colm’s just fine,’ Colm said at once. ‘So you don’t live here, Miss ... Miss Mona?’
‘I do so,’ Mona said at once. She fluttered enticingly long lashes at him in a wink whilst Sean was still admiring the view. ‘Right above you, that’s where me room is. Me an’ Rosie share the attic,’ she added quickly, as Sean turned back towards them. ‘Me mam moved away an’ Auntie Lil took me in, so I live here along o’ the Ryders now.’
‘Aye, don’t you remember me tellin’ you that a young leddy as lived nearby had recommended me to her aunt?’ Sean put in. ‘I told you when I moved in, so I did.’
‘Yes, probably,’ Colm said vaguely. The truth was that he often didn’t listen when his father was talking to him, going off into a dream as the gentle brogue went on and on. ‘But anyway, ‘tis a grand room for me, an’ I’ll be glad to take it.’
‘You haven’t asked the rent,’ Mona said demurely, casting him another of those exciting glances beneath her sooty lashes. ‘Don’t be too eager, Mr Colm.’
‘I know the rent,’ Colm said at once. ‘Me daddy telled me when your aunt said she’d a room ready. I can move in at the end of the week if that’s awright wit’ Mrs Ryder.’
‘We’ll go downstairs an’ tell her right away,’ Sean said. Colm could hear the muted excitement in his father’s voice and was glad that he had been able to give pleasure so easily, for now that he had met Mona Mullins he felt sure he would be extremely happy and comfortable in St Domingo Vale. And from what he could remember of his father’s talk he approved of the family. Indeed, the girl had greatly taken his fancy; Sean had said she was hard-working and sensible, so surely he could only be delighted when he saw where his son’s inclination was leading him?
They went downstairs – just the two of them for Mona went up to her own room to change – and into the kitchen. The youngster was cutting a large loaf of bread into generous slices and buttering them, whilst her mother drew from the oven a meat pie topped with wonderfully fluffy, crisped mashed potato. She saw Colm and straightened, pushing the hair out of her eyes with one hand and deftly angling the pie onto the kitchen table, which was covered with a checkered tablecloth.
‘Seen all you want o’ the room? Good, then you’re just in time for tea. It’s shepherd’s pie, bein’ as we had roast mutton last night, with green peas, an’ a nice suet puddin’ wi’ treacle sauce to follow. I know how hungry you fellers get, though, so we allus do a pile o’ bread an’ butter.’
Colm smiled blissfully whilst his father looked smug. A real meal and served decently, not just slapped down for everyone to help themselves. Oh, his father had been right to persuade him to come over and take a look for himself. He and Sean washed their hands over the sink and as they finished and turned away the kitchen door opened and another man came in. He was very dark-haired, of medium height and had a ready smile, which he turned enquiringly on Colm.
‘This is Mr O’Neill’s boy, Colm, Mr Dawlish,’ Mrs Ryder said. ‘He’s thinkin’ about the little room. Colm, this is another of me gentlemen... Mr Dawlish works down at the docks in shipping.’
‘I told you me son were thinkin’ of makin’ a move, so I did,’ Sean remarked as the three of them seated themselves at the table. ‘Well, he likes the room, do you not, Colm?’
‘Rosie, go an’ call your cousin, tell her I’m dishin’ up,’ Mrs Ryder interposed. ‘I might tell you, Mr Dawlish, that poor Colm walked into a desperate situation when he come round here. That Gulliver had gorrout of his cage an’ was shriekin’ an’ divin’ round our ears like an eagle. Indeed, if Colm hadn’t collared it, I don’t know where it ’ud be by now.
‘Oh, you’d ha’ got the ould feller safe,’ Colm said easily, watching the spoon dig into the richness of the crisped potato topping to reveal the hot, golden-bubbled meat below. ‘What wit’ your daughter keepin’ nix on the kitchen door an’ your niece about to come in, you’d ha’ caught him soon enough, so you would.’
‘He bit you, though,’ Rosie remarked, coming back into the room, closely followed by the vision. Mona was wearing a pink dress with a cream lace collar and very shiny black patent-leather pumps. She looked like a girl who was going dancing and Colm’s heart sank a little. Did she have a young man, then? Was she spoken for? But the glance she shot across at him as she sank into her place heartened him. It was a teasing look, the sort, he now knew from experience, given by a girl to a young man who interested her. ‘Did you put somethin’ on them bites, Mam?’
‘He barely grazed me knuckles,’ Colm lied, keeping his hands below table level. ‘It ’ud tek more than a wee bird to get t’rough skin as tough as mine I’m after t’inkin’! Thanks, Mrs Ryder.’ This last as a well-piled plate was put before him. He turned back to Mona. ‘Are you goin’ dancin’? That’s a rare pretty frock.’
Mona smiled and thanked him, and Rosie said, with an edge to her voice: ‘Not in the middle of the week, she isn’t! We’re both goin’ to our evenin’ classes to try to better ourselves.’
‘Rosie’s doin’ a business course,’ Mona said. ‘I’m studyin’ modelling gowns.’ She tossed her golden bob and took a large forkful of shepherd’s pie, then spoke rather thickly through it. ‘I’d like to work in Lewis’s, showin’ their dresses an’ that, but so far I’m only a sales assistant in Gowns.’
Colm opened his mouth to say he’d a friend who had worked in Gowns over in Dublin, then thought better of it. Mr Dawlish was telling Mona what a fine mannequin she would make and how she’d out-earn them all once she got onto a commission basis and Rose was asking if anyone wanted more bread and butter, whilst Sean ate solidly, his eyes going from face to face as the conversation progressed. It occurred to Colm, taking another slice of bread, that this was like being at home; people helped themselves, his father, seeing Mrs Ryder’s cup of tea empty, had earlier simply got up and refilled it for her. An easy household and one he very much wanted to join. He knew, now, that even had Mona not been living here he would have wanted to become a lodger in St Domingo Vale.
Satisfied, he finished his shepherd’s pie and passed his plate along the table to Rose, who was clearing. Then he watched with delighted anticipation as the suet pudding was brought out of the pan of boiling water, untied from its cloth, tumbled onto a serving plate and cut into generous slices. Mr Backhouse, Colm knew, would be serving his own idea of a pudding about now. It would probably be a large slab of bought cake, stale, of course, because if he waited until it was stale he got it cheaper, covered in custard made with water. And everyone would be so hungry that they would dive eagerly for the bit left over.
‘Awright for you, Colm?’ Mrs Ryder had gently placed before him a very large slice of the pudding and Rose, standing up, pushed a steaming jug towards him.
‘Help yourself to treacle sauce, chuck. It’s easier than me askin’ you to tell me when I’ve poured enough,’ she said, as though she were forty and he a mere stripling. ‘Anyone want another cuppa?’
‘D’you like him? That Colm O’Neill feller?’ Rose asked later that evening, as she and Mona made their way to their evening classes in the Kirkdale Senior Evening Institute on Walton Road. She chuckled. ‘I didn’t half bawl him out when he come through the front door, but I said sorry after. An’ he caught Gully, acourse,’ she added. ‘Mebbe if I’d not shrieked he’d not ha’ caught the ole feller.’
‘Oh, I like him awright,’ Mona said with somewhat studied casualness, Rose thought. ‘Good-lookin’, but then a good few of the paddies is that. But he’s a sight too young for me – bet he’s no more’n twenty.’
‘Well, you’re only twenty-two,’ Rose pointed out. She wondered whether to tell her cousin that she suspected Colm was, in fact, rather less than that, but decided not to do so. It would make her sound as though she was trying to put Mona off him. He was good-looking, though, with his father’s deep-set blue eyes, a strong, jutting chin and the dark hair which curled crisply about his well-shaped head. But, Rose reminded herself as they crossed Sandheys Street and headed for the building, exchanging greetings with other class members as they went, she was not interested in acquiring a young man, especially not one who lodged with them. She wanted to be able to apply for Miss Rogerson’s job as Mr Lionel’s personal secretary when she left to be married in a year or two, and that meant studying hard at both shorthand and typing, always being on time, forever being obliging and never forgetting her goal for one moment. Sometimes Rose remembered wistfully that she had once yearned to become a journalist, but such ambitions had been impossible once her father died. She had had to get a job, and she realised how lucky she was that she had found work with Patchett & Ross, which suited her so well, with advancement perfectly possible. Now, she enjoyed both typing and shorthand, knowing that her mastery of these skills could take her to the very top of the secretarial tree – and that could mean good money and security, too.
She and Mona went dancing occasionally, and of course they met young men and spent the evening with them, but for her own part Rose was always careful to keep such things on a merely friendly footing. Mona was clearly looking for something or someone a bit more permanent, but Rose told herself firmly that she wanted a life, not a feller, and continued to flit from flower to flower. Besides, she was a great deal younger than Mona, not quite seventeen, and what with evening classes, her work with Patchett & Ross and helping her mam in the house, life was quite full enough without the additional complication of a young man.
But sitting before her typewriter, fingers just above the keys, as the gramophone ground out ‘Tea for two’ and the girls endeavoured to type a page of script to its rhythm, she could not help thinking rather wistfully that Colm O’Neill was just the sort of bloke she would have gone for, had she wanted a boyfriend. But seeing as she did not, as how she wanted a life first, she had better put him out of her mind. And she stared ahead of her and typed in rhythm, and wondered whether Mr Garnett had completely forgotten to come round and visit Gulliver, or whether he had only been teasing and had not meant to visit them at all.
Autumn was almost over before, more by luck than judgement, Lily Ryder got her last lodger. Advertisements had availed her little because, rather belatedly, she had realised that lodgers could not all be trusted.
She herself had been very lucky with the O’Neills and Mr Dawlish, but a woman on Oakfield Road had had one who had flitted, not only owing her money but taking everything portable he could carry with him. ‘An I never suspected a bleedin’ thing,’ she had said indignantly to a friend on the tram, when Lily was seated right behind them. ‘Oh, ’e seemed respec’able enough, ’ad a good job, so ’e claimed, so I never did no checkin’ up. An’ now ’e’s pawned all me little bits an’ bobs, no doubt, took the cash I kep’ in the brown teapot above the mantel, to say nothin’ o’ other little savin’s what I were keepin’ for me old age, an’ probably gone off to fool some other poor bugger. Oh, if I could lay me ‘ands on ’im ...’
Lily might not agree with the language, but she was totally at one with the sentiments. She grew nervous of any would-be lodger who was not personally recommended, though she had taken both the O’Neills and Pete Dawlish entirely on trust. But I’m a fair judge of character, she told herself consolingly as she worked around the house. They’re all right, I’m sure of it. It’s just that I don’t fancy some stranger livin’ in me house.
‘Mr Dawlish was a stranger once and it were only Mona what knew Mr O’Neill,’ Rose pointed out, but it was no use. Lily had realised there were bad people about and she didn’t intend to be landed with any such under her roof. She only had one remaining room, on the first floor, next to Mr Dawlish’s and didn’t want to make a mistake.
Other than that, though, things were going well. Everyone was settling down nicely. The three young people grew used to one another and a good deal of teasing went on, though anyone with half an eye, Lily considered, could see that poor Colm O’Neill was dotty about Mona and that she was merely flirting with him.
Rose, on the other hand, seemed to have no particular preference for anyone and went about her work and play with calmness and apparent indifference. Sometimes her mother though she saw a slight wistfulness in her daughter’s eye when it rested on Colm, but that was surely unlikely? Rose, in her mother’s eyes, was a great deal prettier than Mona; clearly, if Colm was indifferent to her it was because she had given him no encouragement, whereas Mona played up to him whenever she felt inclined.
Pete Dawlish was a quiet man with a predilection for long country walks. He was off most weekends, walking in Wales, or up in the Peak District, and when he was at home spent a good deal of time planning his next excursion. The Ryders both liked and trusted him, and found Sean O’Neill to be a solid family man who wrote long letters home every weekend and talked about his wife and small daughter non-stop. He did not go out much, but Colm made up for this by spending almost none of the daylight hours in St Domingo Vale. He went dancing, to the cinema or theatre, out with pals to New Brighton or to football matches or dog races. He hung around Mona, it was true, but so far as Lily knew, had never actually asked her out.
And as the autumn days advanced inexorably towards winter, Lily began to feel a little guilty over her sister Daisy. She had taken the child Lily about with her, bought her presents, played with her. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken to her the way I did, the soft-hearted Lily told herself as she scrubbed and polished, cooked and cleaned, in her lovely house. Perhaps she and Mona only fell out because I’d been critical, Lily thought worriedly as she knelt in the autumn garden, taking out the weeds and gathering up the mounds of dead leaves to carry round the back and put into her compost pile. Perhaps she never did hear of Jack’s death – if she never heard it was no wonder she’d not been to the funeral. And worst of all, of course, was the fear that Daisy was really unhappy. She had taken up with a feller and he had not liked her daughter. Who was to say that he still liked Daisy? Without her daughter’s money coming in and with no feller to support her Daisy could be in deep trouble. So, having thought it over for a number of days, Lily decided to go and visit her sister.
She had to ask Mona where Daisy was living, of course, and Mona, it turned out, did not actually know.
‘She ain’t back at our old place, that I do know,’ Mona said, when asked. ‘But I met a neighbour weeks back, an’ she said Mam an’ her new feller had fell out. But I dunno where they went. I never asked.’
So Lily put on her tidy coat and a hat which, she thought privately, made her look like a Welsh coal miner, and sallied forth.
She was successful. ‘She’s nobbut a couple o’ miles away,’ the neighbour said cheerfully. ‘She’s fell on ’er feet, your Daisy. She’s ‘ousekeeper in a ‘Ouse in Rodney Street owned by an old chap what used to ’ave one o’ them posh shops on Lord Street in Southport. Made a mint o’ money be all accounts, an’ retired a year or so back, only when ‘is wife died ’e cou’n’t manage, so ’e put an advert in the Echo an’ your Daisy answered it. I met Daisy in Lewis’s, buyin’ a couple o’ dark dresses for best, she said, an’ she telled me what ’ad ’appened an’ where she was now. She were right pleased wi’ ’erself I can tell you.’
‘What happened to the feller what she moved in wi’ after she left here?’ Lily asked. She had not wanted to admit she knew how Daisy had behaved, but things had clearly changed. It was best, she felt vaguely, to go armed, with knowledge at least, into her sister’s possibly enemy camp.
‘Oh, ’im.’ The neighbour sniffed ‘Fly-be-night, that one. Lef’ her high an’ dry, an’ young Mona gawn an’ almost no money comin’ in. . . . Well, she were lucky to gerra decent job after . . . Still, there you are, it’s a funny ole world.’
Lily said that it was indeed and left, heading for the new address. She knew Rodney Street and made her way there, found the number and, with some trepidation, knocked on the door.
There was quite a long delay, then a small maid came to answer it. She wore a dark dress with a frilled white pinafore over it and when Lily asked for Mrs Daisy Mullins she said that at this time of the afternoon Mrs Mullins would be downstairs, in her basement sitting-room, and would Miss like to follow her?
Lily had followed her, and had been much impressed by the gardens of the house and by the little sitting-room, with a bright fire burning in the grate, everything neat and clean, and knick-knacks on every available surface. The room was lit by electric light and the curtains and the covers on the comfortable-looking chairs were in a pleasant autumn-tinted chintz. It looked like no room the slatternly Daisy had ever owned, but Lily was at once aware that there was an even more amazing change in her sister. Daisy, spotlessly clean in a black dress and shawl, with her hair pulled back into a bun and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles on a chain around her neck, had invited her to take the chair on the opposite side of the hearth and had then hissed at her that she’d got this job by being respectable, and she’d thank her sister to see that no idle rumours got around about her for she, Daisy, had suffered from idle rumours in the past and knew what she was talking about.
It was not a good beginning. Lily, however, had bitten her tongue and said in a placatory tone that she could see things had changed.
‘Aye. They had to, an’ that’s the truth, for never was a woman so mistook in a feller as I was in Rolly Matteson,’ Daisy had said bitterly. ‘When I moved into ’is house he was all charm an’ wi’ a purse full of money, an’ within six months he’d pawned just about everything I owned an’ flitted wi’ the young gal what lived on the corner. I’d been givin’ him me rent money, seein’ as ’ow I’d had to take a bit of a job to make the money go round, an’ he’d not paid over a penny of it, not he! So I were evicted ... on the street, Lil, wi’ not a pal in the world, an’ me own daughter shunnin’ me – to say nothin’ o’ me sister.’
‘You should have come round, Dais, an’ explained,’ Lily said awkwardly. ‘I dare say I’d ha’ let bygones be bygones an’ give you what help I could.’
Daisy snorted. ‘Well, I di’n’t think there were much chance o’ that,’ she said roundly. ‘As for that gal o’ mine . . . least said soonest mended. But I’m awright now, Lil, in fact I’m in the pink. In clover. I get me keep, all me clothes, a couple o’ maids an’ a scrubbin’ woman to do the dirty work, all I have to do is cook, keep house an’ mek sure the ole feller gets wharre wants. I was allus a good cook when I took the trouble, an’ believe me, Lily I tek the trouble now. It’s worth a bit o’ trouble to have a good wage, an’ a nice room of me own an’ no worries.’ She leaned forward and pulled the kettle over the flame, where it began to hiss comfortably. ‘And it’s all me own efforts what ’ave got me where I am today and I won’t ’ave no one messin’ it up. So if you’ve that in mind ...’
‘Why would I want to do that, Dais?’ Lily asked, honestly shocked that her sister could even think such a thing. ‘But I come round to say as how your Mona’s wi’ us, sharin’ a room wi’ Rosie, so if you ever want to see her . ..?’
‘I can’t think I shall,’ Daisy said, narrowing her eyes. ‘Wharra daughter, when her mam’s in trouble she just turns away! No, I can do very well for meself without no interference from me so-called family.’
‘Mona di’n’t turn away, exactly, Dais. She said your feller turned her out, wouldn’t let her live with you. And ...’
‘Oh, “Mona said, Mona said”,’ Daisy mimicked. ‘I won’t ’ave no one comin’ round ’ere tellin’ a lot o’ lies about me. You di’n’t say you was me sister, did you?’
‘No, is it lies like that you’re afraid of, Daisy?’ Lily said, beginning to feel the first stirrings of real annoyance. ‘Because they’re what other people call truths, you know.’
Daisy reared up in her chair and tightened her lips. Her nostrils flared and her eyes sparked dangerously. ‘Truth, lies, wharra you on about? I won’t ’ave folk spoilin’ wharr I’ve found for meself, that’s wharr I mean; not Mona, nor you, nor anyone else. Well, I’ll mek us a cuppa, then I’ll have to go about me business, gerrin’ the tea for the ole feller, an’ you can mek yourself scarce. I dunno why you come, truth to tell.’
‘I told you I came because Mona’s livin’ with us an’ I thought you oughter know how to gerrin touch wi’ her,’ Lily said in a dangerously quiet voice. ‘As for you doin’ well for yourself, that’s grand, that is. But I’m alone now, since Jack was killed the best part o’ three years ago. I’ s’pose you di’n’t know?’
‘Jack, dead?’ Daisy said, but there was that in her eyes which told Lily that she had known all along, had even, in her spiteful way, not been displeased. ‘Oh well, that means we’re both widders – though I’ve told Mr Clitheroe as I’ve neither kith nor kin of me own, which is another good reason for neither you nor Mona comin’ round ’ere an’ spoilin’ things for me.’ She must have seen the look on her sister’s face for she added in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Not as I’d deny you’re me sister, if it come to the crunch, but I don’t want to be made to look a liar, now do I?’
‘I don’t know why not, since you are one,’ Lily said, taking the cup which Daisy held out and standing it down on a small side table. She got to her feet and Daisy followed suit. ‘Thanks for the tea, but I can’t drink it, Dais, it ‘ud choke me. Well, I won’t tell Mona where you are if you’d rather I didn’t, but if you end up dyin’ in the workhouse, wi’ no one to give an eye to you, you’ll only have yourself to blame.’
Daisy snorted scornfully. ‘Nasty. You’re the one as’ll end in the work’ouse, givin’ a roof to a gal like Mona, what’s no better’n she should be. Oh aye, you warned me about her, now I’m warnin’ you. She’ll batten on you now you’re widdered an’ needin’ her help no doubt, ’cos you allus was a fool, Lily. But me, I’m featherin’ me nest so good I’ll be in clover even after the ole feller pops ’is clogs, I shan’t need no one, don’t you fret. An’ by the same token, don’t think you can come spongin’ off me when things go wrong.’
‘Well, you nasty, spiteful crittur!’ Lily said, throwing caution to the winds. ‘Talkin’ that way about your own daughter, what’s norra bad gal when she’s in decent company. As for spongin’ off of you, it’s allus been the other way about from wharr I can remember.’ She turned on her heel and stalked across the room, heading for the front door once more. ‘I’m off, an’ rare glad to go I tell you!’
Apparently this was more than Daisy could stand, for she hissed: ‘That’s right, you go, an’ don’t you come round me again, Lily Ryder! You thought yourself better’n me me when your Jack was alive for all he were only a bleedin’ tram driver, but now he’s dead you’re just dirt beneath me feet, not worth botherin’ with! Get out, go on, get out!’
Lily hurried back along the dark corridor, through the green baize doors and across the marble-floored hall. She tugged the big door open and ran out, glad to be in the fresh air once more and about to leave her sister’s spiteful tongue behind her. To her considerable astonishment, however, as she descended the steps Daisy said, behind her: ‘Thank you for callin’, Mrs Ryder, and if I have a place vacant be sure I’ll let your daughter know.’
Lily turned and saw that the maid who had let her in had come hurrying across the hallway and now stood at Daisy’s elbow. Lily filled her lungs and shouted. ‘I dunno who you stole them fancy gold spectacles off of, Daisy Mullins, but it’s clear you aren’t seein’ so good! If you have a place vacant you can stick it up your . . .’
The hastily slamming door, with a last view of Daisy’s suddenly horrified face in the narrowing gap, sent Lily off down Rodney Street in a paroxysm of giggles, but she suddenly realised that tears were running down her cheeks and stopped at a tram stop to collect herself, realising that the encounter had upset her considerably. Just then a tram drew up beside her and Lily hopped aboard, not even stopping to consider whether it went in her direction or not. She took a seat inside, for though it was getting on towards evening it lacked a few minutes to leaving-off time so the vehicle was comparatively empty, and asked the young conductor for a ticket to the terminus. Better take a hold of myself before I go home, she thought, dabbing her eyes with a small handkerchief and then blowing her nose vigorously, because there’s no point in tellin’ the girls where I’ve been nor what’s been said. And no point in dwellin’ on what that evil Daisy had said about Jack – just a tram driver, indeed! But if she went home now, all redeyed and upset, she’d go and spill the beans to someone just to get it off her chest and that would never do.
It was a nuisance, of course, that she had not noticed the tram number, so she had no idea where she was about to end up, but she had always enjoyed a tram ride. It reminded her of Jack and the many times she’d ridden with him so that they could walk home together, or have a bit of a talk whilst he waited in traffic queues or watched the time at the terminus.
So now she sat contentedly enough, watching the city unfold before her eyes, trying to guess where she was going. And when at last the tram stopped and the driver got down to stretch his legs, his big gunmetal watch in one hand, she realised that an old friend had been driving, only she had been too preoccupied to notice. Accordingly, she got down and walked round to where he stood, shuffling his feet, whilst the conductor strolled up and down, stretching his legs. ‘Hello, Mr Sutton! How are you keepin’?’
‘Well, if it ain’t Mrs Ryder,’ Mr Sutton said, carefully tucking his watch back in his pocket and beaming at her. ‘What are you doin’ right out here, queen? You’ve not moved out to Dingle, have you?’
Lily laughed. ‘No, though we’re livin’ in a different area, me an’ Rosie. Do you know St Domingo Vale?’
‘Oh aye, a tram driver gets to know most parts o’ the city,’ Mr Sutton said. He drew a cigarette paper out of an inside pocket and a small tin of tobacco. ‘Mind if I roll meself one, Mrs Ryder? How are you managin’, you an’ the gal?’
‘Pretty well, thanks, Mr Sutton,’ Lily said. ‘I’m takin’ lodgers, which keeps me busy, an’ Rosie’s gorra job with a company on Dale Street.’
‘Right,’ Mr Sutton said, carefully licking along the edge of the thin white paper and then with equal care spreading the tobacco along its length. ‘You’ll not have met me conductor before, though, ’cos he’s new to the job. He’s from the Pool originally, but he’s been workin’ down south, in London, for a couple o’ years. When the chance came he moved back up north – sensible feller. Hey, Tommy, come over here, an’ meet Mrs Ryder. Jack Ryder an’ me worked together for years.’
The conductor approached. He was young and fair-haired, with light-blue eyes and a curving, amused mouth. ’ ‘Ow d’you do, Mrs Ryder?’ he said affably. He pulled a bag out of his pocket. ‘Wanna humbug, chuck?’
Lily Ryder chuckled and took the proffered sweet, then turned her attention back to the tram driver.
‘Tommy was on the trams down south,’ Mr Sutton explained. ‘He’s conductin’ for now, but he’s hopin’ for a drivin’ job in a year or so. He wanted to come home, so he’s been stayin’ wi’ me an’ the missus whiles our Andy’s been workin’ up in Scotland. Andy’s comin’ back home in a month or two, though, so Tommy’s on the look-out for somethin’ else – somethin’ where they don’t mind shift work, I reckon.’
He stared hard at Lily, who looked limpidly back, but her mind was racing. A tram man! It would be grand to have one in the house again, whether he be driver or conductor, and a tram man was bound to be trustworthy. She turned and looked at Tommy.
He grinned at her, one cheek distended with the humbug. ‘You gotta room goin’ beggin’, Miz Ryder?’ he asked affably. ‘I’m ‘ouse-trained, ax anyone!’
‘We-ell, I don’t know . . .’ Lily said doubtfully, but she did, of course. She thought that Tommy would fit in very well – and because he was a tram man he would have had to supply references when he came up to Liverpool in the first place or he would never have been taken on. ‘Tell you what, tek me back to the Haymarket so’s I can get me proper tram back to Everton an’ I’ll mek up me mind.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Ryder,’ Mr Sutton said. ‘He’s a good lad, Tommy. We’ve had no trouble wi’ him, the missus an’ me.’ He turned to his conductor. ‘Back aboard, ole feller,’ he said. ‘Who knows, you may be fitted up wi’ lodgings before our Andy gets home!’
Rose came out of Mere Lane and set off across Breckfield Road, heading for the Vale. She was feeling pleased with herself. She had got excellent marks in both shorthand and typing during the recent examinations and Mr Lionel, the most difficult of the brothers, had said, albeit grudgingly, that the firm was pleased with her. She had been using the spare typewriter in the typists’ room whenever they were extra busy and had actually taken dictation a couple of times, managing to read her shorthand outlines back to everyone’s satisfaction. She was still doing the office girl’s work, but already Mr Edward had suggested that the firm employ a boy with a bicycle, who could get errands done faster than Rose could manage on foot, and she could still deal with the post, make the tea and do various other odd jobs when not actually engaged in typing up the lengthy documentation needed for their work. It would mean a higher salary, better prospects and less time spent, Rose thought guiltily, in plodding through the wet and dirty streets, delivering light packages and letters. Furthermore, Christmas was only a matter of weeks off and other members of staff said that the brothers rewarded good work with generous Christmas bonuses. So Rose was feeling pleased with life despite the fact that autumn was clearly over and the wind which blew the leaves around her feet was a chilly one, with winter on its breath.
Mr Garnett had not found time to visit the parrot despite frequent promises, but it seemed to her that the bird was settling in and was, in fact, very little trouble. Indeed, they would miss him when he did leave, for his squawky voice and amusing ways were becoming a part of their lives. Now that he was used to them, indeed, he was friendlier towards everyone, even Lily, who still regarded him with some suspicion. He loved to have his head rubbed and would close a chalky eyelid over his wicked eye whilst this was being done, and when Mr Dawlish was home he would let Gully out of the cage and the parrot would sit on his shoulder, nibbling gently at the lobe of his ear and shouting with pretended surprise and swaying exaggeratedly whenever Mr Dawlish moved.
And it was marvellous having Tommy Frost actually lodging with them – a tram man and eager to talk about his work, too! It was for that reason that she liked him, Rose told herself; it had nothing to do with curly fair hair, light-blue eyes and a smiling mouth. And he’d been a driver down south – so he hoped to be put onto driving during the winter, even if only as a stand-in when the regulars were off. He was good fun, was Tommy, Rose thought now, he always had plenty to say for himself, unlike Colm, who seemed quite content to sit at the table during meals and eat and listen. But although Colm continued, when he thought no one was looking, to gaze in a very sloppy sort of way at Mona, Rose no longer minded. Let him! He was nice-looking, she would give him that, and a pleasant enough fellow, but he wasn’t a tram man and Rose had decided that, if she could never drive a tram herself, at least as a tram man’s wife she would be a part of it all, the way her mam had been.
So Rose danced along the pavement, well pleased with life. And it wasn’t only that the lodgers were fitting in so well and seemed part of the family, nor that the parrot had settled down too and was generally accepted by everyone, which caused Rose’s light step. It was because she was going dancing at the Daulby Hall ballroom with her friend Ella from work, which was a rare treat. Before she and Ella had started studying in earnest they had gone weekly to one or other of the city’s dancing classes and dancing had speedily become a favourite pastime, but ever since she had realised that certificates were her best hope of getting the better jobs, Rose had slogged away most evening at her shorthand outlines and on the cardboard keyboard which had been given to the class in order that those without machines might practise at home.
So since she and Ella were determined to do well in examinations and must, therefore, study constantly, Rose had not been to the dancing classes nor the cinema for weeks and weeks, and even the bright summer weather had, in the main, seen little of her. Only the crisp certainty of her teacher’s voice, reading out the results of the recent examinations (‘certificates to follow’), had persuaded Rose that she might now relax a little, and Ella’s suggestion that they should behave like normal girls for once, instead of prigs and bluestockings, had met with only token resistance.
‘We never did,’ Rose had protested. ‘We just worked hard while it were necessary; that isn’t what a bluestockin’ does. An’ there’s more exams to come, you know. Though not till after Christmas, acourse.’
‘Maybe there are,’ Ella had said. ‘But tomorrer’s Saturday night so what say we go on a spree? An’ not to classes, either, but to a real, proper dance wi’ an orchestra an’ all. Why, if we go to the Daulby Hall, near the Majestic, there’ll be sailors there off the ships down in the docks. Me big sister goes an’ she says there’s a lorra men go there, though they’re mostly foreign. Still, I like dancin’ wi’ men better’n wi’ other gals.’
‘Aye, you’ve a point there, ’cept I don’t much like dancin’ wi’ fellers what can’t speak English,’ Rose said. ‘There’s a feller what lodges wi’ me mam, he’s always off dancin’. Wonder if he’ll be there? Tommy Frost, his name is – I might of mentioned him once or twice.’
‘I dare say you have,’ Ella said, giggling. ‘But I thought it were the Irish feller you were sweet on – the one what’s workin’ on the tunnel.’
‘Oh, him!’ Rose said scornfully. ‘He’s always makin’ moon-eyes at our Mona. Tell you what, though, shall we ask her to come wi’ us? Then you’ll be able to tek a look at Colm for yourself. An’ if Colm comes to the Daulby, then Tommy might, too. He goes dancin’ quite often, I believe.’
‘Do you want your Mona to come?’ Ella had asked doubtfully. ‘After all, if she’s as pretty as you say she’ll cramp our style a bit. We want the fellers buzzin’ round us, not round her. As for that Tommy you mentioned, he’d probably come to the Daulby an’ dance wi’ you if he lodges wi’ your mam, even if Mona don’t come. Only you’d have to tell him where we was goin’, an’ suggest he comes along,’ Ella added.
But Rose immediately vetoed such a forward suggestion. ‘It’ ud look as if I were bleedin’ desperate,’ she said, feeling her cheeks growing hot at the mere idea. ‘But if I wait till we’re all round the table, havin’ our dinners, an’ then ask Mona if she’d like to come wi’ us to the Daulby . . . well, I wouldn’t have cheapened meself, but they might easily come along wi’ us. Don’t you think that’s more . . . more casual, like?’
‘If you wan’, then do it that way,’ Ella agreed. ‘Right, chuck. Best frocks an’ silk stockin’s an’ we’ll meet in the foyer at half nine.’
So Rose rattled along in high good spirits, singing ‘On the sunny side of the street’ beneath her breath as she went, already looking forward to her night out. It would be so nice to wear something pretty and whirl beneath the coloured ballroom lights and chat to girls she’d not seen since the previous winter. Even to herself, Rose did not admit that the thought of Tommy coming to the dance, asking her to waltz or quickstep, was what really excited her.
Rose hurried round the back and burst into the kitchen, to find her mother and Mrs Kibble engaged in the preparation of the evening meal, whilst Mr O’Neill leaned against the draining board, cap in hand. Gully, in his cage, gave her a squawk of greeting, and put his head between the wicker bars of his cage and speared a curling piece of apple peel, which he then proceeded to bang against the side of the cage as though he believed himself to be killing a worm.
‘Mam, I’ve got me results and you’ll never guess what I got in the shorthand tests an’ the typing speeds ...’ she was beginning, when she realised that Colm’s father was speaking. She stopped short, turning a guilty face towards him. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr O’Neill, I didn’t realise I was interrupting you.’
‘It’s awright, Rose,’ Mr O’Neill said placidly. ‘I was just tellin’ your mam here how meself would be away for two weeks over Christmas. It’s a week proper leave an’ a week unpaid, but I t’ought I’d tek it, seein’ as how Mrs O’Neill’s been poorly wit’ a cracked wrist, and’ young Caitlin’s acting a part in the Nativity play, an’ she’s fair des’prit for meself an’ her big brother to see her in it. Colm won’t come as well, not this time. He was lucky to get the job at his age and knows it, so he won’t risk comin’ back and findin’ himself out of work. Of course I telled your mammy I’d pay me room just the same, but she says ...’
‘I won’t tek money for a room that’s not being used, Mr O’Neill,’ Lily said firmly. ‘It ain’t my way. Particularly as Mrs O’Neill’s not been too brave lately. Besides, a fortnight’s norra long time; it’ll soon be gone.’
‘I t’ink, meself, I’d be happier payin’ a retainer,’ Sean said, and Rose saw Mrs Kibble, who had been frowning, give a satisfied nod. ‘You name the price, Mrs Ryder. I know you’ll do what’s right.’
‘Tell you what,’ Rose said suddenly. ‘It ’ud be nice for me an’ Mona to have a room each for a change, just over Christmas, an’ I’m goin’ to get a Christmas bonus from Patchett & Ross.’ Rose turned to her mother. ‘Suppose we ask Mr O’Neill here to put his things in his son’s room, just whilst he’s in Ireland . . . wouldn’t that be fairer, Mam? And I could pay a bit – I wouldn’t mind at all.’
‘That’s fine by me, so it is,’ Mr O’Neill said at once. ‘But you’ve no need to pay for a room in your own house, Rose. Others pay a retainer, a smaller sum which the landlord names, surely that ’ud be fairer? So what d’you say, Mrs Ryder?’
Lily hesitated, then named a small sum in an even smaller voice. Rose smiled to herself. Mam was a nice person, she would never take more than her due and, much though she enjoyed having Mona in the house, there were times when the two of them were both dressing for work in the small room that she could not help thinking wistfully of the days when she had not had to share. But now, everyone was smiling, even Mrs Kibble, and Mr O’Neill, in a relieved voice, said that he would hand the money over before he left for Dublin.
‘For we’ll be busy till then,’ he said, walking over to the kitchen door. ‘We’ll want to get presents for those at home . . . an’ somethin’ a bit special for the star o’ the nativity play I’m t’inkin’.’
‘And we’ll make sure that Colm gets a good Christmas, though it won’t be the same as seein’ his little sister in her play an’ giving his mam a big hug an’ a kiss,’ Mrs Ryder added reassuringly. ‘Still, no one can risk his job these days, work’s too scarce. Well now, Rosie,’ she gave her daughter a hearty hug whilst Gulliver screamed excitedly and swung the apple peel harder against the bars. ‘You’ve passed, eh? Your Dad would ha’ been proud.’
*
Over the supper table, generously laden with a great tureen of savoury stew and another of mashed potatoes, Colm listened with interest as Rose told Mona that she was off to the Daulby Hall with her friend Ella and would Mona like to come along? Colm liked dancing; if Nell had done him any favour it was to teach him to dance, and he had been along to various ballrooms since he arrived in Liverpool and had danced with a number of pretty, light-footed young women. But he’d never been lucky enough to choose the same dance-hall as Mona and now it looked as though he might find out where she went – or at least, where she might – or might not – be going tonight.
But he pretended indifference, continuing to eat the delicious stew – Mrs Ryder was a wonderful cook, as good, in her way, as his mammy – whilst listening closely. What would Mona say? Would she agree to go the the Daulby? Even if she did not, she might easily name the ballroom of her choice, and then ...
‘Dancin’, our Rosie? Wharrever next!’ Mona’s thin, darkened eyebrows rose dramatically. ‘I thought you was too busy wi’ your books an’ exams for such pastimes!’
Rose giggled. ‘I was. But I passed, didn’t I? So now I want some fun. Are you goin’ to come along wi’ us, Mona? We’re goin’ to the Daulby, an’ I thought I’d wear me pale-blue linen. It ’ud be the first time I’ve had it on, an’ Mammy made it months ago, didn’t you, Mam?’
‘I did,’ Mrs Ryder agreed placidly. ‘But it were for parties, not the office, an’ you’ve been too busy for parties, chuck. Still, you should go about more.’ She turned to her niece. ‘Why don’t you both go, keep an eye on each other?’
‘We-ell, I might,’ Mona said, cocking her head on one side. ‘I’ve gorra coffee-coloured lace dress I’m longin’ to wear. Only why the Daulby? You get all them foreign seamen . . . they jabber on so, an’ they squeeze an’ all.’
‘The ones off the Argentinian boats?’ Mr Dawlish put in. He laughed. ‘But they dance well, I’m told.’
‘Oh, no one dances like an Irishman,’ Sean put in. He grinned at his son. ‘You oughter go along as well, Colm, let ’em see how a feller from Dublin can leap like a leprechaun an’ show a clean pair o’ heels to the best of ’em.
‘You’re right there, Mr O’Neill,’ Mona said, forking in more stew. ‘The Argies can dance, I’ll give ’em that, but they smell of cattle boats, so I still prefer our local fellers.’ She looked under her lashes at Colm, making his heart skip a beat, then glanced at Tommy’s fair head, bent over his plate as he industriously ate. ‘Though I always thought Irishmen had two left feet, to say nothin’ of clods of earth on their boots!’ Colm and his father laughed and protested, and Mona, dimpling at them, addressed Tommy, who was sitting opposite her. ‘Wharrabout you then, Mr Frost? Why don’t the pair o’ you come along to the Daulby? As soon as all the girls realise you ain’t foreign they’ll be all over you! Why not, eh?’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Colm said, ‘As for boots, you’re doin’ me a rare injustice, Miss Mona, for I’ve got me a good pair o’ dancin’ pumps and foot it wit’ the best, though it’s not certain I am of the tango, or the foxtrot. But I can Charleston up a storm I’m tellin’ ye. An’ anything I can’t dance I’ll watch till I pick it up. I’m a quick study wit’ me feet, so I am.’
‘Well, I’ll see how me cash is holdin’ out,’ Tommy said. ‘If I’m in the money I’ll certainly give you girls a treat an’ come to the Daulby. Seein’ as ‘ow I’m a boy scout at heart it’ll be me good turn for the week,’ he added in a mock-righteous tone. ‘Mekin’ sure the pair of you ain’t dragged off to the white slave trade by some sleazy, hip-swivellin’ Argy.’
‘The three of us,’ Rose reminded them. ‘Don’t forget me pal Ella’s comin’ along an’ all. We’re meetin’ in the foyer at nine thirty an’ we were goin’ to the upstairs ballroom, although we aren’t beginners. Most o’ the Argies stay downstairs for some reason.’
‘I might as well come wit’ you, Tommy,’ Colm said. He did his best to sound casual, uncaring, but feared that his voice let him down by its evident cheerfulness. ‘If we go in at half-time it’s cheaper and I’m savin’ up for Christmas – aren’t we all, now? – but it’s a dacint evenin’ out for threepence, and havin’ a few dances an’ soft drinks is cheaper than spendin’ an evenin’ in the pub punishin’ the hard stuff.’
‘Don’t they sell alcohol at the Daulby, then?’ Mr Dawlish said, grinning. ‘Oh well, don’t you go tryin’ to persuade me to join you – I’d rather tek a few pints an’ have a bit of a singsong any day than prance around wi’ a lot of fancy Argy fellers a-watchin’.’
‘I’m wit’ you there,’ Sean said. He wiped a piece of bread round his now empty plate and heaved a satisfied sigh. ‘Sure an’ you’re a wonderful cook, Mrs Ryder. My Eileen won’t be knowin’ me at Christmas, so fat I’m after becomin’ on your good food.’
‘Get along wi’ you, Mr O’Neill,’ Lily Ryder said, beaming. ‘Rosie, if you clear the crocks Mona and meself will fetch in the pudding.’
Colm watched the two girls gathering up the plates and hugged himself inwardly. At last he was going to hold the delectable Mona in his arms, murmur into her ear – and be extra careful not to stand on her size fives! He had a shrewd suspicion, though, that Mona might prove expensive company. Nell’s depredations had made their mark on him; he fought shy, now, of girls who demanded expensive drinks or wanted only the best seats in cinemas and theatres.
On the other hand, though, he told himself as he watched the arrival of the apple pie and custard, no one gave anything away for free in this world and he had a pleasant suspicion that Mona would prove generous in other ways if he stumped up for the largest box of chocolates, the best seats. So there you had it. If you wanted a first-rate looker and a chance to cuddle in the dark you had to be cheerful and part with your hard-earned cash. A pity Christmas was coming up ... but he’d manage, somehow. He would work overtime, get some work clearing leaves up in one of the big houses on the outskirts of the city. Oh aye, and Mona would be worth it, lovely girl that she was.
‘Colm, have ye gone deaf, son? That’s the second time Mrs Ryder’s asked you if you’d like custard. What’re you t’inkin’ about, boy! Stop dreamin’ about the dance or there’ll be none left an’ I know how you love treacle tart.’
Colm felt his cheeks grow hot. ‘I weren’t ... I were t’inkin’ I might take on some odd-jobbing in me time off, so’s I can buy me mammy a better Christmas present.’
‘Good idea,’ Tommy said approvingly. ‘We might go together, Colm.’
Mrs Ryder cut into the tart and passed it, and the jug of custard, up the table to Colm.
‘Don’t tease the boy, Mr O’Neill,’ she said kindly. ‘It’s the girls dream about dances, not young fellers. Help yourself, Colm, an’ then pass the jug along.’
Although it seemed rather strange when Rose thought about it, there had been no suggestion that the four of them might make their way to the Daulby together and probably it was as well. It was generally accepted that if a feller was serious he would pay for you to go into the dance, but for a casual friendship like theirs it was fairer all round to meet inside. And besides, Mona’s toilet, when she was going dancing, was somewhat elaborate. She tugged out every good dress she possessed – and she possessed many – before agreeing with her cousin that the coffee-coloured lace was the nicest.
‘Ella’ll be wonderin’ where I’ve got to,’ Rose grumbled, as at last Mona, with a final dusting of powder on her small nose and a last brush at her shoulders to make sure no loose hairs remained on the lace, finally pronounced herself ready. ‘We said half-nine, not half-ten!’
‘Don’t exaggerate, flower,’ Mona said, setting off down the stairs at a trot. ‘We may not make half-nine – well, we won’t – but we’ll be there by twenty to the hour if we gerra move on.’
‘I hate being late,’ Rose grumbled as they let themselves out of the house with her mother’s reminders not to go missing trams or arriving home at midnight ringing in her ears. ‘Still, I bet the fellers won’t be on time.’
‘Stop moaning and run!’ Mona shrieked suddenly. ‘There’s a tram, our Rosie; if we miss this ’un it’ll be a while afore the next at this time o’night.’
They tore down the Vale and onto Oakfield Road, and really sprinted to the tram stop.
‘But there’s a bloomin’ crowd aboard,’ Mona said as they inched towards the doorway. ‘I don’t mind standin’, but I do mind bein’ left behind. I bet half o’ these kids is goin’ to the Daulby.’
But they weren’t left, because Rose plunged impetuously forward, getting foot on the step and heaving herself aboard, then turning to help Mona. There were some good-natured squeaks and growls from passengers shoved even further down the car, but the conductor rang the bell and the vehicle moved ponderously forward. The movement shunted everyone towards the front and a good-natured railway worker, still in his overalls, pushed the two girls behind him and put a muscular arm across the entrance, effectively penning them in.
‘Where’re you goin’, gals?’ he asked. ‘This tram’s always crowded an’ I’m off at the next stop.’
‘Daulby Hall,’ Mona told him. She tossed her golden curls and showed him the brown paper bag under her arm. ‘Can’t you tell, mister? Them’s me dancin’ pumps in there, an’ I’m wearin’ me best dress.’
The man chuckled and told Mona that she was lookin’ rare smart an’ didn’t he wish he were ten years younger, and Mona said something about many a good tune being played on an old fiddle, which made Rose feel uncomfortable. She thought uneasily that her cousin was being very friendly considering she had never met the man before this moment, but it probably didn’t matter since he was an old man of at least thirty-five. Now if he had been younger she would have thought Mona was being flirtatious and egging him on. But before she could say anything someone else shouted ‘Tickets, please! Come along now, tickets, ladies and gents!’ and the conductor, a small, rosy-faced man, pushed and wriggled his way out of the crowded interior of the tram.
The girls turned away from the railwayman and handed over their pennies, and it was no time at all before the tram stopped at their destination and what looked like the majority of the passengers got down and made their way towards the hall, though some of them, Rose guessed, were heading for the Majestic cinema, where they would be meeting friends who had watched the film and would go dancing later, perhaps at the Daulby, or possibly at one of the other popular venues in the city.
‘Dear God, wharra crush,’ Mona said crossly as they went towards the foyer of the dance-hall. ‘I’m glad I brought me pumps in the bag, at least all those clodhoppers only trod on me workin’ boots. Now, Rosie, can you see your Ella anywhere?’
‘No, I ... oh yes, there she is,’ Rose said. She clutched her cousin’s arm. ‘Come along, we’d best grab her before she disappears. Is Saturday night always like this, I wonder?’
‘Bound to be. Folk come dancin’ on a Saturday ’cos they can lie in on a Sunday,’ Mona said wisely. ‘Is that Ella, in the orange dress? She’s a bit showy, ain’t she?’
‘It’s not orange, it’s flame. It’s a very fashionable colour,’ Rose said stiffly. She thought, herself, that the dress was a trifle bright, but Ella was her friend and Mona had no call to question her taste. Rose had noticed some very odd clothing in her cousin’s wardrobe this evening. ‘Come on, Mona, or we’ll lose her.’
She ignored Mona’s mutter of ‘Norra bad thing, to my way of thinking,’ and continued to wriggle through the crowd until she reached her friend’s side. ‘Here we are, Ell,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Got your joey?’
‘Aye. An’ a bit over for a drink an’ some chips, after,’ Ella said. ‘Is this your cousin? Hello, Mona, I’m Ella Thompson. Me an’ Rose work in the same office, an’ we’re at night-school together an’ all.’
‘Glad to meet you,’ Mona said. ‘Come on, lets gerrin before all the best places are took.’
Rose was enchanted with the ballroom. She had been dancing before, but always at one of the establishments where it was taught. She saw the soft but brilliant lighting, the orchestra and the assembled dancers as though they were a marvellous sort of stage set and had to work hard not to show how impressed she was before Ella, who had obviously frequented such places before, and Mona, who seemed entirely at home
There were some chairs and tables, but mostly the girls stood on one side of the ballroom in small groups whilst on the opposite side the young men congregated, laughing and chaffing one another, and pretending not to notice the girls, although their eyes roamed speculatively across the room whenever they thought themselves unobserved. Rose scanned the young men as they made their way to the cloakroom to leave their coats and walking shoes but she could see neither Colm nor Tommy. Still, it was early yet and they’d probably have coats to hand in as well.
They emerged from the cloakroom clutching the tickets the girl on the counter had given them, Rose smoothing her skirt nervously and glancing rather self-consciously down at her new dancing shoes. She felt sure everyone must be staring at her, but when she glanced around she saw at once that people were too busy with their own friends to worry about strangers. The band had left the platform and were nowhere to be seen, and the dancers were queuing at the bar for soft drinks, crisps and biscuits.
Rose peered around her, then clutched Ella’s arm. ‘Ella, I thought I saw someone from work! You know, the office boy, Reg. Is it him, over there by that pillar?’
‘Come on!’ Mona said. ‘There’s a table . . . first one there grab it!’
Rose followed and the three of them sat down quickly on the chairs then relaxed and looked around them.
‘I bet Tommy an’ Colm turn up after ten o’clock and you made me rush meself like a mad thing,’ Mona complained. ‘Everyone else has gone into the ladies to do their hair and powder their noses again – will you save my chair if I just pop off for a moment?’
‘Oh, you go then,’ Rose said. ‘Though why you want to put more stuff on your face I can’t imagine. It’s a good thing Mam didn’t take a hard look at you, me girl, or you’d ha’ been sent up to our room to wash it all off again.’
‘I’m older than you,’ Mona reminded her. ‘Besides, you can’t work in a flower shop an’ not make up nice. Nor you can’t come to a dance wi’ your face all bare, like a schoolgirl.’
‘She don’t half slap it on,’ Ella said as Mona, with a flick of her blonde hair, disappeared into the crowd. ‘My mam would say there’s a bit o’ make-up an’ there’s paintin’, an’ your cousin paints. Not but what she’s very pretty,’ she added quickly. ‘In fact, she’s downright lovely – I doubt we’ll gerra look in wi’ the fellers tonight.’
‘She dresses lovely, too,’ Rose said rather wistfully. She had been delighted with her blue merino dress with its neat waist and the cream lace which edged the V of the neckline. She had bought a piece of matching blue ribbon to tie up her curls in a knot on top of her head, and had felt modern and grown-up . . . until she saw Mona in the coffee-coloured lace with its deep décolletage, the way it clung to her body until it frothed out into fullness just above her cousin’s silk-clad knees.
‘Yeah. That lace thing must have cost a packet,’ Ella agreed. She looked down at her flimsy, flame-coloured dress with its myriad little pleats and uneven hemline. ‘I was real proud of this ’un, until I saw your cousin’s. Now . . . well, it looks a bit – a bit bright, like. An’ you can see it wasn’t bought at Lewis’s, or Blackler’s.’
‘Nor were mine, chuck,’ Rose said ruefully. She looked over her friend, from the top of Ella’s soft, toffee-brown hair down across the peaky, elfin face to the slender body in its bright dress. ‘But I tell you what, you’ve gorra sort of fresh, young look. Mona looks more – oh, more used, like.’
They were still chuckling over it when Mona came back and sat down, thumping her small evening bag down on the table between them. ‘I just seen the fellers,’ she said. ‘Tommy an’ Colm, I mean.’
‘Oh, good. I thought I saw one of the fellers from work, too,’ Rose said. She giggled. ‘I can’t imagine dancing wi’ Reggie, can you, Ella?’
The band had taken their places once more and the conductor announced they were to play a waltz and could he have all the young ladies and gentlemen on the floor, please? Ella leaned forward. ‘Reggie’s awright, but . . . oh, Lor’!’
‘What? Don’t say Reggie’s goin’ to join us, I think ...’
Someone loomed over the table. Someone very tall and very, very thin. Someone familiar. ‘Hello, Miss Ryder, Miss Thompson. Are you enjoying yourselves? And now are you going to introduce me to your friend?’
It was Mr Garnett, and he was staring meaningfully at Mona.
Much later that night, curled up in her bed with the sound of Mona’s snuffling little snores sounding in her ears, Rose, hugging herself, went over her very first official dance. She had enjoyed it so much and at first it had seemed positively doomed. Mr Garnett was her boss; how could she possibly feel at ease with his eyes on her all evening? And if he felt it was only polite to join them . . . well, it was just too awful to contemplate.
But it hadn’t happened like that. To be sure, Mr Garnett had danced first with Mona and later, rather punctiliously, with herself and Ella, but he had not spent the intervening time at their table. He had gone back to the group he was with and, so far as Rose was aware, had not so much as glanced at them since.
It hadn’t been too bad dancing with him, either, although because of the difference in their heights – and the length of his legs – Rose had found herself whisked around the floor, lapping the other dancers several times, and had ended up breathless. She had half expected him to talk about work, or Gulliver, too, but instead he chatted inconsequentially about the dance, the dullness of the refreshments and the fact that he hoped the rain would hold off for the journey home.
And as soon as he had done his three duty dances – that was how Rosie saw it, thankfully – Colm and Tommy had appeared, looking very smart in dark suits, white shirts and sombre ties, and bringing with them a short, square young man called Max who had immediately endeared himself to the girls by proving to be an excellent dancer and an amusing companion. It transpired that he was also a tram-worker, though only a mechanic, and had not been invited along by Tommy, as the girls had at first supposed. The three men had met up in the foyer and when Colm had admitted that the two of them were meeting three young ladies . . .
‘Well, after that there were no gettin’ rid of him,’ Tommy had admitted, grinning. ‘Specially when he saw what stunners you was.’
The girls had snorted at that, but nevertheless it was a good start to the evening, and the fun had been fast and furious, with Max and Ella, Tommy and Rose, and Colm and Mona taking to the floor for the next dance.
After that they had all taken turns and danced with each other, and though, when dancing with Colm, poor Rose knew that he had spent the entire time trying to keep an eye on Mona and Tommy, she had still managed to enjoy herself immensely. She was a good, neat dancer and actually performed the tango, with Tommy, as though born to the elegant, swooping movements, though she thought, privately, that Mona would probably have done it better. Since neither Max nor Colm felt sufficiently self-confident to undertake an attempt, however, the other four stood on the edge of the floor and applauded whenever Tommy and Rose swooped past, making Rose feel positively like a film star, she told her partner.
But the best time of all had been the walk home. They emerged onto the pavement outside the Daulby to find the sky clear and star-spangled overhead, the weather just sufficiently frosty to make them thankful for their warm coats, hats and sensible shoes. And when Ella and Max had left them, the four of them joined arms and strode out briskly, Rose trying to match her steps to the longer ones of her companions, for even Mona was three or four inches taller than she, and this seemed very amusing and, when they occasionally broke into a run, downright funny.
They had entered the kitchen as quietly as they could, of course, but Rose’s mother had sat up for them. Rose thought this was awfully kind, especially as her mam had made a big jug of hot cocoa and provided a platter of her own shortbread biscuits and some ginger cake, but she did notice that the young men looked a little glum.
She had mentioned this to Mona as they undressed for bed, and Mona gurgled and said that of course the fellers had been disappointed. ‘’Cos I reckon they’d meant to have a nice ... a nice kiss an’ cuddle in the warm kitchen, instead of on the back doorstep, like they usually do,’ she had explained. ‘Fellers don’t tek you dancin’ just for the pleasure of treadin’ on your toes, you know. They buy you some drinks an’ refreshments, an’ you’re supposed to pay ’em back in kisses.’
‘Really?’ Rose had said, considerably fascinated. ‘D’you mean they’d have kissed both of us, or would it have been one each?’
Mona, dabbing half-heartedly at her make-up with a damp flannel, stared at her though the mirror on the washstand. ‘Gawd, you don’t know nothin’, you,’ she had said with affectionate disgust. ‘One each, acourse!’
‘Oh! Then . . . then which?’
‘Which d’you think?’ Mona had asked aggravatingly and then refused to discuss the matter further. Only Rose knew, of course, that Colm would have grabbed Mona and she herself would have been grabbed by Tommy. It stood to reason – Colm had been staring goggle-eyed at Mona all evening, including the times he had danced with Rose. She had felt happy and comfortable in his arms, until she had realised why he had answered her at random and kept turning his head and twiddling her around. Indeed, Rose’s toes had gone uncrushed chiefly due to her own nimbleness, but Colm, she thought bitterly, would scarcely have noticed had he trodden on her head, so anxious was he not to miss a movement of Mona’s.
It had spoiled her dances with him; of course it had. No girl likes to know that the man who holds her in his arms is not only thinking of someone else but manoeuvring her so that he can look at that person as well. Still, Tommy was handsome, charming, good fun . . . and a tram man, to boot. What was more, he was driving now, not just conducting. And he’d been wearing his uniform overcoat and the familiar smell of the serge was enough to turn Rose’s knees to water. She had always thought trams romantic, even when it was just her dad who worked them. Now, she thought, she might have a husband of her own who drove a tram ... a giddying thought.
So she curled up in her bed and decided that, should they go dancing together again, she would tell Tommy that she did not want to dance with Colm. It was a shame, because she had liked him very much, once, but a girl had to be practical. The very thought of wanting a boy who didn’t want her was repugnant to Rose. All that silly talk of unrequited love could easily be avoided if one kept one’s head. Colm was, so to speak, ‘taken’. Therefore it behoved her to look around for someone else and to treat him simply as someone who lived under the same roof as herself and who would be appreciated only as a friend.
Having made her decision, Rose put the thought of dancing and young men firmly out of her mind and thought, instead, about waves curling down on a sandy shore, trees stirring in a spring breeze, sheep jumping over fences.
After a while, it worked and Rose slept – and dreamed confusingly of Colm and Tommy attempting to drive a herd of sheep into the waves whilst she, in the guise of a sheep-dog, barked at their heels and tried to make them see the error of their ways.
Colm had enjoyed the dance, the walk home through the darkened streets . . . even the cocoa and biscuits. He washed, undressed and got into bed with the delicious memory of Mona in his arms, prepared to stay awake all night, if necessary, so that he could relive those magical moments.
But oddly enough, when he returned in his imagination to the ballroom, it was not Mona who snuggled softly in his arms but Rose. He knew it was her, he could smell the delicate scent she used, feel the slender firmness of her waist and looking down, see the rich, dark-brown curls of her hair and the whiteness of her parting. He could even see the curve of her cheek, the smooth, creamy skin, the lashes, so black and thick, which swooped over the blue of her eyes.
Odd! He had spent most of the time whilst dancing with Rose in twisting her around so that he could watch Mona. Ah Mona, with her golden curls, her generous curves, her low-cut and clinging dress! He tried to visualise her mouth, her skin . . . and found himself visualising, instead, Rose’s gentle lips, her damask cheek.
This is a nightmare, so it is, he informed himself indignantly, opening his eyes on the darkness until he was sure he wasn’t dreaming. Then he replaced the young and pliant Rose with the high desirable Mona and allowed his hopeful hand to slide from her waist down onto the clinging curves of ... of another part of her. She was smiling up at him, quiescent . . . only it didn’t work, that was the trouble. In his dreamlike state he asked Mona to dance, held her firmly, whirled her round . . . and found himself holding Rose and watching Mona as she quick-stepped with Tommy, or Max.
‘Damnit!’ Colm thought crossly, sitting up in bed with the promptitude of a jack-in-the-box. ‘I’ll dream what I bleedin’ well want, so I will!’
He lay down again, but sleep was inexorable now and would not be denied. He plunged into its depths, trying to hold a vision of Mona before him . . . but he couldn’t do it. He simply slept, deeply and dreamlessly, until morning.