Our Lizzie (7 page)

Eva was fiddling with a pencil. “Mam says I have to look for a Saturday job.”

Alice sighed. That would be the beginning of the end. It'd be just Saturdays at first, then skipping school to “help out” wherever Eva worked when things got busy or some other worker was ill. She had seen it happen time and time again with the needy families. It would be terrible if it happened to this child!

It was then that she had the idea. She didn't say anything about it, of course. She always liked to think things through first. But if—no, she'd wait till later to work it all out. “Get off home, now, child,” she said gently. “And try not to worry. Something'll turn up. It usually does.”

Eva trailed out, feeling comforted. She'd never seen Miss Blake hug anyone before, not even when Jimmy Pikely broke his arm. She knew she was the teacher's pet and she liked that. Who cared what the others said? Miss Blake was wonderful, with her gored skirts and her crisp white blouses. Even the dark aprons she wore at school were more elegant than other teachers' aprons. Miss Blake had
style
.

And it didn't matter if she wasn't good-looking. Where did being good-looking get you anyway? Eva sniffed scornfully. It got you into trouble with the lads, being good-looking did, like Mary Holden's sister Flo. And then you had to get married and have babies and stay at home all day looking after them. Well, she wasn't going to do that! She'd go mad with nothing to do but housework. If she couldn't become a teacher, she'd find some other way to escape her mother. She didn't much like their mam, whatever it said in the Bible about honouring your parents.

Tears filled her eyes again and the world turned to a blur of colours. Why did her dad have to die like that? Life wasn't fair. And it was only going to get more unfair, so far as she could see.

*   *   *

That night, Sam went out on the prowl. He wanted to see what the town was like after everything had shut down. He strolled along as the Town Hall clock struck two, enjoying himself. There was a moon to light his way and the only sound was his own footsteps, though once a dog barked as he walked past a house.

He stopped and frowned down at his feet. He hadn't worn his work clogs, but even his best shoes had metal heel and toe tips to make the leather last longer and they made too much noise. He'd have to buy a pair of shoes with rubber soles. Hmm. His preference for clogs was well known at work and in Fowler's shoe shop on York Road. He'd better go over to Manchester and buy some quiet shoes there. No one knew who you were in Manchester—or cared.

What about Gran, though? She'd notice the new shoes and wonder why he needed them. He'd have to hide them somewhere she couldn't reach. Eeh, there were a lot of things to think about. He wasn't like Josh Lumb. He liked to think things out and plan for them. Whatever Josh said about its being easy pickings, so long as you didn't go out thieving too often, Sam intended to tread very carefully at first.

And any road, it wasn't just a question of getting the stuff, but of selling it for a decent price. He had to sort out that side of things, too. Though on the other hand, he had a few contacts already from his buying and selling of this and that—so maybe it'd all fit in quite well. If he took a bit of care. And he would. Josh might only go for money when he broke into a house, but there were other things you could take which sold well, things like fancy clocks. Look at the prices he'd got for the Harpers' oddments.

A noise alerted Sam long before he saw the bobby in the distance. He slipped down a back alley and watched the fellow pass. Stupid sods, policemen. Listen to the row that one's boots were making. You could hear him coming a mile off.

When he got home, Sam lay in bed, wide awake and excited, for all he'd have to be up early to get to work. He was going to do it. Oh, yes. And he was going to make himself a lot of money. By the time that little lass grew old enough to marry, he'd be in a position to look after her properly. Funny, the way he'd taken to the idea of wedding Lizzie. But he had. And he always got what he wanted.

Chapter Four

When Percy got home that evening, a bit late after a quick visit to the pub with Sam after work, the children had already eaten but Meg had a place set for his tea, with the remains of a loaf covered by a cloth in the middle of the table and a big helping of hearty stew bubbling gently on the gas stove. She looked red-eyed, but a little brighter than before.

“Come and have your tea, Percy love. The children have eaten. I sent them out to play because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Eva doesn't like playing out,” he joked. “She'd rather bury her head in a book.”

Meg's voice was grim. “She's playing out today. And she's helping out round the house more from now on. So is our Lizzie.”

So far as he could see, Lizzie already did quite a bit round the house, and usually quite cheerfully, too, but he didn't waste his breath saying so, just went to wash his hands in the scullery behind the kitchen, calling over his shoulder as he went, “I got the money out of the savings bank at lunch time and paid Sam what we owed him. I got a bit extra out for you, too.”

“What? Oh, yes, the rent. I'd forgotten about that. And someone found my purse in the park today—empty, of course—and brought it round. Stealing my money at a time like that…” Her voice broke and she set the dish of stew on the table, then went to fuss over the stove. She knew how hungry men always were when they came home from a hard day's work, how they didn't like to talk until they'd had time to relax a bit, though from the smell of his breath, Percy had already relaxed with a sup of ale on the way home. She wouldn't mention that now, though she'd keep an eye on it. What they'd all do if he took up drinking, she didn't know.

A few minutes later, seeing he'd taken the edge off his appetite, she brought him a big mug of tea and some for herself in the china cup and saucer she always insisted on, because tea tasted better in it.

Sitting down, she said abruptly, “Mr. Beckins came round to see me.”

Percy stopped eating to look sideways at her. “Oh?”

“An' the brewery owners sent us some money to help tide us over.” Her voice became bitter. “
Five pounds!
”

“The mean buggers!” He saw her look of shock. “Sorry for the language, Mam, but it is mean after all the years Dad worked there.”

She nodded. “The men took up a collection as well. Just over ten pounds, they gave me.”

“That was kind of 'em.”

Meg began to fiddle with her teaspoon. “I've been thinking. About the lodgers, you know.”

He laid his hand over hers. “I've been thinking about that, too. There's no need for you to do it, Mam. We can move to a smaller house and manage on my money. I don't want you wearing yourself out.”

“We'll have what Lizzie earns now, as well as your money. It's only a few shillings, but it'll make a difference.”

He stared at her, mug halfway to his lips. “She did get the job, then?” Since his mother had not mentioned it, he'd assumed Lizzie had been unsuccessful.

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Dearden was very kind. But—the thing is, I don't want to leave this house, Percy.” She looked around and tears filled her eyes. “We've been happy here. And it's got memories of my Stanley.” It was also better than most other houses in the Southlea district. She liked that, too.

“But—”

“I think if I take two lodgers, women perhaps, friends who would share a room—if I do that, then we can manage all right here if we're careful.” She glanced quickly sideways at him. “If you don't mind giving me some of your money every week, that is?”

“You know I don't mind. You can have most of it.”

She let out a sigh. She had known she could rely on him, but it still made her feel better to hear him say it. “Thanks, love. If you and Johnny move into the attic, I'll take your room and that'll leave the big front bedroom for the lodgers.”

Percy sat frowning. “Hmm. I'll get some paper out and we'll do this properly, work out what money we'll need.” You couldn't beat seeing the proof in figures, so far as he was concerned. He'd always liked arithmetic. He pushed away the empty plate. “That was lovely, Mam. No one makes stew like you do.” While she cleared up, he found an old exercise book and pencil, then made her sit down and help him with the calculations.

“All right,” he said when they'd gone through the money side of it twice, just to be sure, “let's see if we can find two lodgers. Women, mind, since they'll be less work for you. Then we'll give it a try, see how we go. If it's too much for you, we can still move to a smaller house.”

“Yes, Percy.”

Although neither of them realised it at the time, from that evening she treated him as head of the household, deferred to him, gave him the biggest chop, the armchair that had been his father's. But Eva noticed. And Lizzie. Their mother had never fussed over her daughters the way she had over her menfolk and now it was, “Get our Percy a cup of tea!” or “Pass our Percy the paper.” Even when Lizzie's feet were killing her after working in the shop, or Eva had homework to do, they still had to get up and serve their brother.

*   *   *

Two evenings later, there was a knock on the front door and when Eva opened it, she found her teacher standing there. She couldn't help beaming. “Miss Blake!” Then the smile faded. “There's nothing wrong, is there?”

“Nothing's wrong, no. I'd just like to speak to your mother about an idea I've had. Would it be convenient for me to see her now?”

“Oh, yes.” She showed the visitor into the front room and went rushing into the kitchen.

Meg's heart sank when she heard it was the teacher. “What have you been doing now?” she asked Lizzie.

“I haven't been doing nothing!”

“Haven't been doing
anything
!” Eva corrected automatically. “And she isn't in trouble, Mam. I'd have known if she was.”

In the front room, Meg sat down opposite her visitor and Eva stood behind her mother. Lizzie crept into the hall to listen. She knew she hadn't misbehaved, but teachers got mad at you for nothing, so she wanted to know what was being said.

“I'm so sorry about your loss, Mrs. Kershaw,” Miss Blake began.

Meg nodded, because every time someone said that a big lump came into her throat and she found it hard to speak.

“Eva was telling me she hoped to find herself a little Saturday job.” She cocked her head on one side and gazed at Mrs. Kershaw questioningly.

“Oh. Well, yes. I'm afraid we shall need every penny. They all have to p-pull their weight.” Lizzie had complained that her shoes were too tight and it made her feet hurt to stand up in them all the time at the shop, but there was good wear left in them still so she wasn't going to replace them yet.

“I was wondering if I could hire your Eva to come and help me out at home on Saturdays? I could pay her a shilling and give her a good meal at midday.”

Meg blinked. This was the last thing she'd expected to hear from Miss Blake. “Doing what?”

“Housework, running errands, washing my china bits and pieces. Whatever needs doing.”

Eva nudged her mother and Meg looked back to see a radiant face behind her.

“Well—I can't see any objection.”

“I'd
love
to help you, Miss Blake.” Eva's eyes were glowing. “I'll work ever so hard.”

Alice smiled at her. “I know you will, dear. I've been meaning to look for some help for a while and when you said you were seeking a Saturday job, I knew you'd be ideal. I couldn't have a noisy person clattering around. I do enjoy my peace and quiet at weekends.”

“Well, that's settled, then,” Meg said, pleased at the prospect of more money coming in.

Outside in the hall, Lizzie scowled. Trust their Eva to get a soft job like that. She winced as she turned and her shoe rubbed a blister on her heel. If her dad had been alive, he wouldn't have expected her to wear shoes that were too small. She went out across the yard to the lav and sat there alone in the darkness until the urge to weep had passed. It didn't do any good crying, she told herself. No one cared how she felt now.

*   *   *

Three days later, on Saturday, Peter Dearden noticed that the new girl was limping. She was a nice lass, very willing and quick to learn, but today she seemed a bit slower than usual. At first he wondered if her early enthusiasm for the new job was wearing off. After a while, however, he noticed the limp she was trying to hide, the way she stood on one foot when she thought no one was looking, and decided that her feet must be hurting. He went to whisper in his mother's ear and she, too, began to watch Lizzie.

When there was a lull, Sally sent Lizzie out to the back for a quick cup of tea and a bun. She'd always found that if you fed your staff mid-morning, they worked better. And she had an arrangement with the baker's across the road to buy stale buns or cake left over from the previous day, so it didn't cost much. After a minute, she followed Lizzie out to the packing area and, not seeing her, raised one eyebrow at young Fred. “Where is she?”

“In the lav.”

Sally peered outside, saw a movement in the corner and marched across the yard, to find Lizzie with her black stocking off dabbing at her foot with a handkerchief dampened under the outside tap. “What—” she began, then she noticed the foot. A huge blister on the heel, broken and weeping, and another on the big toe. How on earth had the child put up with that all morning?

“Your shoes are too tight,” she said in a firm voice. “You must get some more.”

Lizzie hung her head. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Dearden. I asked Mam and she said there was still a lot of wear in these.”

Sally drew in a long slow breath. You didn't blame a mother in front of a child, but it made her feel angry that Mrs. Kershaw hadn't even checked her daughter's feet before refusing, as she herself would have done. “You can't put that shoe back on again. I've got some slippers you can use for the rest of the day. They're black, so no one will notice. Come with me.”