Our Lizzie (19 page)

But whether she wanted him or not, it was nice to think of Sam looking at her like that. Especially as her mam had said to her once or twice that no one would ever want to marry a scrawny rat like her.

*   *   *

Two days before Christmas, Percy came home from work to find his mother looking even more miserable than usual. “Something wrong, Mam?”

She gestured towards the mantelpiece. “That came by second post. Read it.”

He picked up the letter propped behind the clock, a hastily scribbled pencil note, not at all like Eva's usual letters, which were always exactly two pages long and written in immaculate copperplate:

Dear Mam and everyone

Alice has got the influenza and she's too ill to get out of bed, so I'm afraid I can't come home for Christmas after all. The influenza's really bad round here with lots of people ill. A man down the street died of it only last week, so I daren't leave Alice to fend for herself, not when she's been so kind to me. And I don't want to pass it on to you people, either, especially you, Mam.

I'll come over as soon as I can and we'll have an extra celebration. I'll save your presents till then. I hope you all have a really happy time.

Love,

Eva

Percy's heart sank, but he tried to speak cheerfully. “Well, let's hope Eva doesn't catch it herself.” But if she did, she'd not be really ill, because she hadn't inherited their mother's weak chest like Johnny had. “And she's right not to risk giving it to you, Mam. You know how badly you always catch things.”

Meg glared at him. “
That woman
has done this on purpose! She's probably only pretending to be ill, trying to stop me seeing my own daughter! And at Christmas, too.”

Rather than telling her not to be silly, Percy drew a deep, slow breath into his nostrils, fingering the moustache he'd grown lately, which his mother hated but which Emma said really suited him. Sometimes recently he had felt like striking out at his mother when she acted so irrationally. Sometimes he … Another long, slow breath and he was in command of himself again. After all, he'd had years of practice at biting his tongue.

He could guess, even without being told, that Eva was secretly glad of the excuse to stay away. Each of her visits to Overdale seemed to end in tears and recriminations from their mother, which sent his sister away with a tight, angry look on her face. And for days afterwards there would be snide remarks tossed at Lizzie, scoldings for the two younger children (though she didn't hit them nowadays, thank goodness, or not as much) and weeping sessions in the front room or, if she could catch him, in the arms of her elder son.

“How do you stand it, living here?” he asked Emma bitterly one day when he met her on the stairs after one of these scenes. “Why don't you two find yourselves some new lodgings?”

They'd considered it a few times, but Blanche had said nowhere was perfect and she had grown quite fond of young Polly lately. “Oh, we don't hear a lot up in our attic,” Emma told him lightly. “And we really like our nice big room. Besides, your mother's never rude to us. Your poor little sisters have a lot to put up with, though.”

“Aye. We all do. And I'm grateful to Miss Harper for taking an interest in Polly. It gets her out of the atmosphere downstairs when you invite her up to visit you.”

Emma smiled. “My sister and yours enjoy their little tea parties enormously. And it leaves me free to visit my friend Millie more often, so I'm grateful to Polly, actually.”

He sought for something else to say to keep her with him. “She loves the singing lessons.”

“She has a nice little voice.” Emma heard Mrs. Kershaw come out of the kitchen and stand at the foot of the stairs. She saw that Percy had heard it, too. They exchanged glances and she repeated, a little more loudly, “Yes, she has a lovely little voice,” then turned to go back upstairs. It annoyed her to know Mrs. Kershaw was eavesdropping. If it had been up to her, they would have left here ages ago and rented a house of their own. But she had realised that Blanche was afraid of making any changes. And not only was their life comfortable here—on the whole—but they were able to save money.

Embarrassed, Percy wished, not for the first time, that his mother would mind her own business. He stood and watched Emma climb the stairs, trim and neat as usual, with the prettiest pair of ankles he'd ever seen. Then he sighed quietly and went back downstairs.

*   *   *

Just after Christmas, Peter Dearden came home one night to find Jack sitting alone in the darkened shop, which was lit only by a nearby street lamp, staring moodily into space.

“What's up with you, sitting out here like a fool in the dark?”

“I—can you spare me a minute, Peter? I need some advice.”

“What about?”

“A girl.” Jack blushed hotly and kept his face averted.

“Oh, yes? You're a bit young to be needing advice about girls. Who is it?”

“Lizzie.”

“
Lizzie Kershaw?
”

“Yes.”

“If you've been messing about with that lass, I'll skin you alive.”

“I haven't been messing around. We're just friends, me an' Lizzie.” But he avoided Peter's eyes as he spoke, glad of the dimness. “We just go for walks in the park together and—and talk.”

Peter stood over him, taller than Jack ever would be and looking very stern. “So what's the problem, then?”

“It's—well, a friend of Lizzie's family stopped me in the street one day. He said if I wasn't serious, I should leave her alone.”

Peter considered this for a minute, then nodded. He might have done the same thing himself if someone had been paying undue attention to a sister or cousin. “And are you serious?”

Jack shook his head. “No—well, I like Lizzie a lot, but we're too young to—to think of marriage.” He paused, trying to explain to himself as much as to his brother. “And anyway, I want to learn to fly planes one day, and—and, well, I don't think she's ready to—to settle down, either. We're just—you know, good friends.”

Peter's lips twitched and he moved back into the shadows, not wanting to reveal that he found this situation amusing. His baby brother walking out with a lass! “I think if you're not serious, then the family friend is right. You shouldn't see so much of Lizzie. It's not fair on her. Who was it spoke to you?”

“Oh, just someone.” Jack didn't even want to mention Sam Thoxby, because he was ashamed of how afraid he'd been.

“You're sure
she
doesn't think you're courting her?”

“No, of course not.” Well, he hoped she didn't.

“Then you should stop seeing so much of her, I reckon. You'll be in no position to support a wife and family for years, young fellow my lad.”

“No. You're right. And—thank you for listening to me.”

Peter walked away, smiling. Well, at least Jack had good taste in girls. But he hoped Lizzie hadn't had expectations. He didn't want her made unhappy. He enjoyed having her around, all cheerful and willing. She was a lovely young lass.

His well-meaning words had an unexpected effect on his brother.

Jack lay awake for hours that night before he could get to sleep.
Support a wife and family!
That was the last thing he wanted, the very last. He'd seen lads who'd had to marry young, because they'd got a lass into trouble, and they soon started looking unhappy and full of care. One, whom he'd known a little from the group of lads who met sometimes at the corner of the main street of an evening, had said to him bitterly, “Watch your step, Jack lad. Don't ever get yourself into hot water like I did. You pay for it for the rest of your life.”

There was a lot Jack wanted to do before he got married. Mainly fly planes, though of course he hadn't told his mother and father that yet, only his brother. Which would mean leaving Overdale and upsetting Mam. But he was still going to do it. Though not yet.

Support a wife and family!

Oh, no! That was the last, the very last thing he needed. He'd miss seeing Lizzie, talking to her, but he wasn't going to mess up his whole life. Not for any girl on earth.

*   *   *

Percy promised to take his mother over to visit Eva after Christmas but she came down with the influenza. No one was at all surprised when she was so bad they had to have the doctor in. James Balloch was a new man to the terraces of Southlea, a stern young Scot with a heart of gold where his patients were concerned, however much he tried to hide it. He gave Polly, who'd stayed at home from school, very strict instructions about looking after her mother and not letting her overstrain her heart while she was ill.

Meg lay back in relief. It was almost worth being ill to have a good rest. No one knew how hard it was for her sometimes to keep going, how tired she got. “Will you—tell my son that, doctor?”

“Oh, yes. I'll make sure your family look after you, Mrs. Kershaw.” Because he'd lost a few patients whose families hadn't looked after them and as a consequence had stopped mincing his words.

At a family conference, it was decided that Polly, now nearly thirteen, should stay home from school to look after her mother for as long as was necessary. She nursed Meg with her usual devotion to anyone in need, and did most of the cooking, while Lizzie and Johnny did the shopping and the two sisters shared the housework, all the time bearing meekly with their mother's complaints. Lizzie tried to make Johnny help them round the house, but it was more trouble than it was worth. So far as he was concerned, housework was women's work and he wasn't having anyone calling him a cissy. Percy lent a hand sometimes, though, and didn't seem to mind it.

The lodgers helped where they could, as well, behaving more as if they were family members than paying guests. Miss Harper did some cooking and shopping, though she stayed away from the invalid, and Miss Emma also lent a hand after work. But meals were necessarily scrappy affairs, and they all missed Meg's excellent cooking, because Polly (kept dancing attendance on her mother) just didn't have the time or ability to do anything fancy, and Lizzie (who was a better cook) got home from work too late to help in that area.

Meg, enjoying the rest, soon felt better than she had for ages and stretched out her illness as much as she could. She was disappointed when the doctor said she had to get up and start doing a few things. “Are you sure it's safe?”

“If you stay in bed any longer, you'll lose the use of your arms and legs,” he joked.

“But I still feel exhausted if I do anything, doctor.”

“Your chest is clear now and you must start to build up your strength again. You need to move about, do light work around the house.”

So she went down and sat in the front room, and when anyone tried to get her to do anything, pretended to feel faint. But after a quiet word with Dr. Balloch, Percy insisted that Polly go back to school, so Meg had to start taking over her old tasks again. She still did as little as possible, leaving most of the heavy jobs to her daughters when they came home from work and school.

Then Lizzie started looking pale and sounding hoarse.

“Are you all right?” Percy asked one evening.

“Oh, it's just a bit of a cold.”

“Perhaps you'd better take a day off work. We don't want you coming down with the influenza as well.”

The thought of being at home with her mother all day was enough to make her shrug her shoulders and say, “I'm all right! Just leave me alone, will you?”

But she wasn't all right. And she felt worse the next morning, far worse. As she was lingering over her breakfast, wondering whether to take Percy's advice, her mother said sharply, “Get off to work, then! I don't want
you
under my feet all day.”

So Lizzie trailed off. But the wind was icy, seeming to cut right through her, and when she arrived at work, shivering and white, Sally Dearden took one look at her and told her to go home.

“You've got the influenza, Lizzie Kershaw, and I don't want you passing it on to us, thank you very much. Go home and get yourself to bed.”

“I don't want to—let you down.” She broke off as a cough erupted and nearly tore her apart. It felt as if someone was sticking knives into her back.

Sally waved one hand dismissively. “You'll get better more quickly if you rest. Get off with you.”

As Lizzie walked through the streets, the wind was icy and she coughed a lot. She was now feeling so dizzy that she had to stop a couple of times to lean against the nearest wall.

“Eeh, you do look bad,” Fanny Preston said when she met her at the end of the street.

Lizzie hardly heard her. She staggered through the front door, tears of relief trickling down her cheeks, to be greeted by the sight of her mother pottering around the kitchen, looking rosy and happy. She paused in the doorway, trying to pull herself together, wishing her head wasn't thumping.

Meg turned and scowled when she saw who it was. “What are
you
doing at home?”

“Mrs. D sent me.”

Meg clutched her chest in shock. “You've never lost your job!”

“Of course not. I've got the influenza.” Lizzie began to cough again and had to clutch the doorframe to stay upright. “She says I'm to go—to go to bed.”

Meg didn't want to share her quiet house with this daughter. “Just playing your usual tricks, if you ask me. It's a bit of a cold, that's all. And don't expect me to rush up and down those stairs all day, waiting on you! I'm not fully recovered myself, yet.”

Lizzie, who had been going to fill herself a hot water bottle, turned and walked slowly upstairs, shivering at the malevolence in her mother's expression. When she got into her bedroom, which was chilly and felt damp, she scrambled into her nightdress and wrapped an old shawl around her shoulders. As she crept into the bed, coughing, she wished that she had stayed to get that hot water bottle. She huddled all the covers round herself, but couldn't seem to get warm.