Our Lizzie (4 page)

He went to search the mantelpiece, but shook his head.

Lizzie stood up to watch. “Ooh, someone must have took them!”

Meg's face crumpled. “No! They wouldn't! Surely they w-wouldn't, not on the d-day of the funeral?” Suddenly it was all too much for her and she sank down on her chair, head in hands, sobbing.

Percy fumbled in his pocket, but found only a couple of shillings and a few coppers, after the various expenses of the past day or two. He held out the silver coins. “Here, Mr. Cuttler, take this on account. I'll get the rest to you on Monday. I've got some money in the savings bank.”

Meg's weeping grew louder and even through her handkerchief the words, “Never been late with the rent. Never!” could be distinguished.

There was another knock on the front door. With an exclamation of annoyance, Lizzie stamped along the corridor again. “What do you want now?” she asked Sam, still furious with him for trying to get her a job at Pilby's.

“I forgot my hat.” The sound of Meg's weeping echoed down the narrow hall. “Summat wrong?”

“Someone's took the rent money off the mantelpiece an' Mam's purse as well. An' Mr. Cuttler's here wantin' the rent. Only our Percy didn't have enough to pay him, so Mam started cryin'.”

Sam fumbled in his pocket. “How much do you need?”

She looked down at the big callused hand, not wanting to touch him for some strange reason. “Percy's got some money in the savings bank, thank you. We don't need anything.”

“Don't be daft! Better owe me than Cuttler. How much more does your mam need?”

“Two an' six. It's four and six a week.”

He took hold of her hand and dropped the coins into it, closing her fingers on them. “Here. Tell Percy he can pay me back any time.”

Lizzie stared down at the coins, then up at his face. After a moment, she nodded and her expression became a shade less hostile. “All right.” She took a quick step backwards, feeling threatened by the way he was standing over her. He was such a big man. Staring up at him, she decided she'd never liked ginger hair. It looked funny against the pink of his neck. Even the hairs in his nostrils were orange-coloured. Ugh! And she wished he wouldn't always stare at her like that.

The feel of the coins in her hand reminded her of her manners and she managed to say, “Thank you!” in a scratchy voice as she turned towards the kitchen.

“I'll come round tomorrow night, Lizzie. Give you time to think things over. It's not bad working at Pilby's. There's be other lasses to pal on with, you know.”

Somehow, Lizzie swallowed another blunt refusal. She wasn't going to work at Pilby's, she was absolutely determined about that. But she'd have to have a good reason for refusing, or they'd push her into it. Why was Sam Thoxby taking such an interest in them all of a sudden?

He picked up the bowler hat he had left behind on purpose and walked out, whistling softly, mightily pleased with himself. It had been easy to take the rent money and purse while he was helping Percy get the house ready. No one had noticed a thing. Eeh, they were a soft lot, the Kershaws, when it came to looking out for themselves. Fancy leaving money lying around like that with a house full of people coming and going!

He beamed up at the blue sky. And now the Kershaws would have even more cause to be grateful to him. Like the Harpers. He strolled back home where his good humour evaporated rapidly. Gran wasn't in, of course, the sink was piled high with dirty dishes and there was nothing in the house for tea, not even a loaf. It'd have to be the chip shop again. When he was married, he'd make sure his wife always had his tea waiting for him. And kept the place nice, too. He wasn't going to live like this for ever.

It was then that he decided to extend his additional activities, remembering how easily he'd diddled the Harpers out of half the proceeds of the sales, and how easily he'd picked up the purse and rent money at the Kershaws. Folk were just asking to be robbed, they were so trusting. And only fools worked themselves into an early grave.

He looked round and anger mounted in his throat and belly. This place was a sodding mess! He was going to get himself something better before he was through, a lot better. And he was going to marry Lizzie Kershaw, too. She'd really taken his fancy, that cheeky little lass had. He could afford to wait for her to grow up, though. In fact, it wouldn't be convenient for him to get wed now.

By the time Sam had dumped a paper full of fish and chips on the kitchen table and started eating its contents with his fingers, he had cheered up. When he wanted something, he usually got it. One way or the other. He just had to work it out in his head and make a few plans.

*   *   *

An hour later, Lizzie decided she couldn't stand being cooped up indoors any longer. She went to see her mother, who was sitting in the front room, looking lost and weary. “Can I go out for a breath of fresh air, Mam?”

“No.”

Percy, sitting in their dad's armchair opposite, frowned at his sister.

“Please, Mam. Just for a few minutes.” Tears filled Lizzie's eyes. “I feel,” she patted her thin chest, “as if I haven't been able to breathe properly all day.”

Meg roused herself to look at her eldest daughter, noting the drooping shoulders and reddened eyes. For once, she let the child have her way because she'd felt like that today as well when the house was full of people. “All right, then, you can run me an errand. Percy, have you still got a few coppers? Thanks. Go down to Dearden's, Lizzie, and get me some more milk. It all got drunk up this afternoon. I was going to use a tin of condensed, but it never tastes the same.”

“Thanks, Mam.” She was out of the house before anyone could change their mind.

Meg gulped back a sob and looked sideways at her son. “I'm s-sorry about the Technical School, love. I know how set you were on going there. Maybe in a year or two we'll manage something.”

“Maybe.” He went to sit beside her, putting his arm round her thin shoulders. “I know you'll miss Dad, but I'll look after you. Always.”
Look after your mam
, his dad had often said.
Don't let her tire herself out. She's not strong
.

It was up to him, Percy, to keep an eye on things now. The children would need supporting for years yet. He wouldn't even be able to marry, he realised suddenly. Well, not unless he met someone who got on with his mother and wouldn't mind her living with them. And Meg Kershaw wasn't an easy woman to deal with—look at the way Lizzie always managed to get on the wrong side of her. Face facts, Percy, he told himself sternly. But it was hard, indeed it was, because he'd had his dreams just like the next fellow.

*   *   *

Lizzie wandered down Bobbin Lane, crossing the street to avoid a group of young fellows who all turned round to stare at her, but thank goodness didn't shout out after her. They were like that, lads were, as soon as they started work. They stood around street corners in the evenings and you kept away from them if you were a lass, because the things they said made you blush.

She went past the little corner shop. Her mother didn't buy milk from Minter's, said they didn't scour out the milk churn well enough and sometimes didn't cover it up properly, allowing bits of dust and dirt to blow in. The Kershaws always went down to Dearden's for their milk, even though it was twice as far to York Road, where the posh shops were. Today Lizzie was glad of that, dawdling along in the dusk, trying not to attract attention to herself.

The lights were still on in Dearden's, but they were clearing up the counters ready to close at eight o'clock. She stopped outside for a moment to watch them bustling, envying them their busy cheerfulness. It was then that she saw the notice, written on a piece of card hanging inside the window:

Help Wanted, Suit Half-Timer

She froze where she stood for a minute as she realised that this might be the answer to her problem. Then she pushed open the shop door, shaking her head in refusal as Jack Dearden, who was a year older than her at school, tried to serve her.

“I need to see your mother,” she said, breathless with excitement. “About the job.”

He cast a knowledgeable eye towards a customer and her pile of packages assembled on the long, polished wooden counter. “She's nearly done.”

Lizzie went to wait at the rear. It was no use asking for Mr. Dearden, because it was common knowledge in town that Mrs. Dearden made all the decisions nowadays. Her husband spent most of his time out at the back in the warehouse, roasting the coffee and blending the teas to make
Dearden's Best
. He wheezed like a pair of leaky bellows and Lizzie had heard folk say that he wouldn't make old bones.

At last the customer said goodnight and walked out, then Mrs. Dearden turned to Lizzie, her voice softer than usual. “What can I do for you, lass?”

“It's about the job, Mrs. Dearden. I saw the card.” She waved one hand towards the window. A phrase she'd heard at school came into her head. “I'd like to apply for the position, please.”

There was silence and a frown, then the shopkeeper's lips pursed. “Hmm. Does your mother know you've come?”

“She knows I need to find a job, but she doesn't know about this one because I've only just seen the card.” Lizzie gestured around the big, brightly lit shop, filled with rows of fascinating goods. “I'd really like to work here, and I don't want to work at Pilby's.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“It's dark an' shut in, an' they do the same thing all day long in that packing room. I like to see the sunshine an' talk to people an'—an' move about. It'd be so interesting here, with all the different things to sell. I bet I'd soon learn all the prices. I can learn quick when it's real things what make sense. It doesn't make any sense, what we have to write about at school.” Lizzie took a deep breath, half-closed her eyes and started to recite the piece they'd just been learning by heart. “‘
Describe the shape of the earth. The earth is a huge spheroid with a diameter of nearly 8
,
000
miles and a circumference of nearly 25
,
000
miles
.'” She paused and added indignantly, “What does that mean? Nowt!”

Sally Dearden tried in vain to hide a smile. “All right, all right. I get enough of that stuff with our Jack.” The words Lizzie had recited hadn't made much sense to her, either, but she wasn't going to admit that to a potential employee. Actually they'd been meaning to take on a lad and train him up in the trade. Her husband had complained last time she took on a lass because he said grocery was men's business, though Susan was much neater in her ways than young Fred. But it was a poor look out if you couldn't help a family in trouble. She leaned forward and said quietly, “I'm right sorry about your father, lass.”

Lizzie had forgotten for a minute, but at that the grief all rushed back in on her like one of those black express trains roaring through the station and she had to gulp back a sudden desire to weep. “Yes,” she managed. “Yes, th-thank you.”

Sally waited a minute, then got down to business. “What are you like at adding up?”

“I'm good at arithmetic, but,” Lizzie stared down at her feet, “I'm not so good at problems. I can't see what furlongs and farmers' fields and one man walking twice as fast as his brother have to do with anything.”

“What's threepence halfpenny plus fourpence three-farthings?”

“Eightpence farthing,” Lizzie replied without the slightest hesitation.

“And if the customer gave you a shilling to pay that, how much change would you give her?”

“Threepence three-farthings.”

“And are you an honest child?”

Lizzie nodded, looking at her in slight puzzlement.

Sally's face relaxed infinitesimally. She knew that, really. The Kershaws were a decent family, well respected in the Southlea district. The father had been a fine figure of a man, with his thick black hair and burly body. She'd often seen him in church, with his pretty little wife beside him. After another long silence, she said slowly, “Come back here tomorrow with your mother. We'll have to see what she thinks about it.”

It wasn't till she was halfway home that Lizzie realised she'd forgotten the milk. She hesitated then decided not to go back. It wouldn't look good, forgetting something, not when you wanted a job, and she did want the job at Dearden's. It was a nice shop. All the posh folk from the top of the hill and from the new houses over in Northlea shopped there, and there was always someone passing the window. Well, there would be in the main street of the town, wouldn't there?

When she got home, she forgot about being quiet and erupted into the house, shouting, “Mam, Mam, guess what's happened?”

Meg listened to her daughter in silence and didn't say anything about the empty milk jug. It'd be a good chance for Lizzie, working at Dearden's would. A better class of job than Pilby's. She stared at the child disapprovingly. Scrawny, not at all pretty like Eva, a real disappointment in so many ways—and wilful with it. Why Stanley had thought the world of her, Meg didn't know. She found Lizzie a real trial, with her slapdash ways and her cheekiness.

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. Even her clever little Eva wouldn't be able to stay on at school now and they'd have to watch every farthing they spent. Terror lanced through her and for a moment or two she just stood there, her breath rasping in her throat, wishing she had died with Stanley, wishing she didn't have all these terrifying responsibilities.

Percy frowned at his sister. “But Sam's got you the offer of a job at the works, Lizzie.”

“I told you an' I told him—I don't want to work at Pilby's. It's horrid, your works is, all dark an' gloomy, an' the girls in the packing room do the same thing all day long. I'd go mad working there.” She turned to her mother. “I can go an' work at Dearden's, can't I, Mam?”