Try a Little Tenderness (2 page)

Stan, whose dark colouring Laura had inherited, flushed. ‘Yer’ve always had it in for the girl, yer’ve never had any time for her. But in future, leave me to deal with her.’

Once again he made to walk away and Mary pulled him back. ‘Let’s get this straight, once and for all. She’s my daughter as well as yours, and while she’s in this house she does as she’s told. If she misbehaves and deserves a crack, I’ll give her one. If she’s good, we’ll get on fine and this house will be a happier place. The choice is hers. But I’ll tell yer this, Stan, and yer can take it from me that I mean every word of it. I’m fed up to the back teeth of her getting pampered and our Jenny left out in the cold. I won’t tolerate it any longer. Either Laura pulls her socks up and behaves in a reasonable manner, or I’ll wash me hands of her and she can run riot for all I care. She’d be your responsibility then. And that is only right, because you made her what she is.’ She pushed his arm. ‘Go and call the girls in for their dinner. Oh, and unless the words stick in yer throat, wish Jenny a Happy Birthday.’

They sat down to their meal in silence. But Laura’s eyes were going from her mother to her father. She wasn’t satisfied that she’d received the sympathy she thought she deserved. ‘Is me face red, Dad, where me mam slapped me?’

Stan’s eyes were on his plate when Mary answered. ‘I can’t see any red. But I’ll slap yer again if it’s a red face yer want.’

‘Did yer hear that, Dad? She said she’d slap me again.’

‘Get on with yer dinner,’ he grunted, ‘before it gets cold.’

Mary pursed her lips. She shouldn’t say any more to aggravate the situation, it would make her as childish as her daughter. But in the end she couldn’t hold it back. Her and Stan had never argued before, not until Laura started to come between them with her shenanigans. ‘Don’t call me
“she” either. They say that “she” is the cat’s mother. So if I’m a “she”, what does that make you?’

Jenny was feeling miserable, her heart in her boots. She couldn’t bear it when there was an atmosphere in the house, and this time she was to blame. She should have let her sister keep the blinking rope – look at the trouble it had caused. She could tell her mam was upset, and she didn’t deserve to be. So Jenny tried to make amends. ‘Did yer see me skipping-rope, Dad? It’s a smasher, all me mates will be green with envy.’

Laura wasn’t having that. She was her dad’s favourite, not Jenny. ‘Seeing as all your mates are green anyway, no one will notice the difference. They’re all as thick as two short planks, every one of them.’

Stan raised his head, his knife and fork standing one in each hand like sentinels. ‘That’s enough of that, there’s no need to be sarky. Get on with yer dinner and have less to say.’

Laura’s eyes flew open in surprise. Her dad never spoke to her like that. But she knew who had put him up to it – her mother. But she better hadn’t say anything now, not while her dad was there. She’d get her own back though, she vowed as she speared a carrot. If her mother thought she was going to be a goody-goody, like their Jenny, then she had another think coming.

As the meal continued in silence, Laura was wrapped up in thoughts of the future. Only another six months and she’d be leaving school and getting herself a job. She was so selfish, all she dreamed of was having her own money and being able to buy the clothes she liked instead of having to wear the drab things her mother bought for her. Never once had it entered her empty head that her mother had to scrimp and scrape every week to buy those clothes. No, all Laura was concerned about was herself. Not for her the pride of handing over her wages every week in the knowledge that they would make life easier for all the family.
She’d already made up her mind that she was entitled to keep more for herself in pocket-money than she handed over. After all, she would be the one going to work so why should she hand it over? In her narrow mind there was only one person in her life that she really loved – Laura Nightingale.

Mary was hanging the washing on the line on the Monday morning when a smile crossed her face. Amy Hanley, her neighbour and best friend, was singing at the top of her voice in the next yard. Over the wall came the strains of a song that had been popular a few years ago. Mind you, it had been sung then by Kate Smith, and Amy was certainly not in the same league as the well-known singer. It wasn’t that she was tone deaf, she just sounded like someone who had been thrown out of the pub at closing time after her throat had been oiled by half-a-dozen bottles of stout.

‘
When the moon comes over the mountains
,

I’m alone with my memories of you
.

We kissed and said goodbye
,

You cried and so did I
,

Now do you wonder why I’m lonely?
’

Mary took a peg from her mouth, and giggling, she shouted, ‘Yer missed a verse out there, Amy. What happened to the “rose-covered valley we knew”?’

‘Oh, ye’re there, are yer? Well, I’m not in the mood for rose-covered valleys today, girl, I want to be alone with me bleedin’ memories.’

‘What memories are they, Amy? Must be miserable from the sound of yer.’

‘I’m always miserable on wash-day, girl. If the sun was shining and I had nowt to do, and me purse had a few bob in it, me memories would be happy ones. Like remembering when my feller used to put his hands around me waist and
tell me I was the most beautiful girl in the world, bar none. He hasn’t said that for years, girl. Mind you, I haven’t had a bleedin’ waist for years, either.’

Although there was a brick wall separating them, Mary could see her friend as clearly as if she was standing next to her. She was only five foot, was Amy, and as round as she was tall. Right now her mousy-coloured hair would be covered by a mobcap which would be down to her eyebrows because the elastic had withered, the pocket of her pinny would be bulging with clothes pegs, her stockings would be wrinkled around her ankles and her face would be creased in a smile.

‘Another memory keeps coming back to me, girl, but I have a bit of trouble with it ’cos it’s faded with age. It was when we were first married, before the kids came along, and my feller was that eager he used to carry me upstairs to the bedroom.’ Amy’s laugh was so loud they must have been able to hear it in the next street. ‘Now it takes him all his time to carry himself up. And the most I get out of him in bed is, “Don’t let me oversleep, d’yer hear?”.’

‘Well, the men are tired after a hard day’s work, Amy, yer’ve got to make allowances for them. The first flush of youth isn’t there any more.’

‘What the bleedin’ hell do they think we do all day? Sit on our ruddy backsides? I’d willingly swap places with my feller and go out to work while he minded the three kids. He wouldn’t know what had hit him, having to polish and scrub, wash, iron, get the shopping in, see to the dinners, do the darning … I’d give him a week and he’d be pleading for mercy.’

‘Some good could come of it, Amy,’ Mary chuckled. ‘If he was at home all day he could put his feet up for a couple of hours, then he’d have the energy to carry yer up the stairs to bed again.’

‘He’d need more than energy to carry me up the stairs now, girl – he’d need a bleedin’ hoist. And by the end of all
that palaver he’d have lost the urge.’ Amy finished pegging the washing on the line and stood back to gaze with satisfaction at the clothes blowing in the wind. They’d be dry in no time and she could start ironing before the two kids came in from school and got under her feet. ‘Ay, girl, yer don’t happen to have any custard creams in, do yer?’

‘I might have a couple, I think. Why? Are yer having visitors?’

‘I’m not, girl – you are! I’m inviting meself in for a cup of tea and a chinwag. There’s nothing better to chase the blues away than a good old gossip.’ Her chubby face did contortions. ‘Yer don’t need to get yer best china out for me, girl, I’m not a snob.’

‘Don’t be funny, Amy Hanley, yer know I haven’t got no china cups.’

‘That’s why I said yer didn’t need to get them out, girl, I knew yer didn’t have none. I didn’t want yer rummaging in yer cupboards for something yer haven’t got. And don’t be coming over all embarrassed when yer give me a cup with a chip in, ’cos like I said, I’m not a snob.’

‘Ye’re a bloody scream, you are, Amy! Yer invite yerself over without a by-your-leave, then have the nerve to criticise me crockery before yer come. And ye’re expecting custard creams into the bargain.’

‘Only one, girl, I don’t expect no more. And yer’ll get yer money’s worth, ’cos I can tell by yer voice that yer need cheering up.’ Amy raised her voice to a shout. ‘You put the kettle on, girl, while I stick the guard in front of the fire.’

‘You’re well-off having a fire this time of the morning, aren’t yer? Has your feller had a win on the gee-gees?’

Back came a whispered, ‘Fooling the neighbours, girl, that’s all. I bet a pound to a pinch of snuff that nosy Annie Baxter has had her ear to the wall, listening to every word we’ve said. She’ll be round to Lily Farmer’s as fast as her skinny legs will carry her. And by the time she’s put her own interpretation on our conversation, it’ll end up
something like this. “Ay, what d’yer think, Lily? Monday morning, and that Amy Hanley’s got a fire up the chimney. And yer’ll never guess where she got the money from for a bag of coal. What’s that yer said, Lily? Oh, yer’ll have three guesses … okay. No, she didn’t get it on tick off the coalman. No, she didn’t find a two-bob piece. No, yer silly cow, the bag hadn’t fallen off the bleedin’ coal-cart. That’s yer three guesses, Lily, and I knew yer wouldn’t get it in a month of Sundays. Just wait till I tell yer, yer won’t believe it. She got it off her feller for letting him carry her upstairs so he could have his wicked way with her. How about that, eh? Dirty pair of buggers”.’

On the other side of the yard wall, Mary was in stitches. Amy might not be able to sing like Kate Smith, but her impersonation of the street gossip was perfect. ‘That was very good, Amy, yer sounded just like her.’

‘If I had false teeth, girl, I could do it better. Yer know how her teeth are always clicking when she talks – well, I can’t do that. Still, it’s not worth having all me teeth out just to sound as miserable as she does. I’m all for getting things right, but that would be carrying it a bit too far.’

‘It’s to be hoped she’s not listening to yer now, Amy.’

‘I couldn’t give a sod, girl, and that’s the truth. If she wants to listen in to private conversations, then she doesn’t deserve to hear anything good about herself.’

‘Ye’re right there, sunshine. Anyway, I’m going in or the day will be gone before we know it. I’ll have a cuppa on the table in ten minutes. Oh, and I won’t forget yer custard cream. It won’t be a whole one because I could only afford half-a-pound of broken biscuits, but I’ll see if I can stick two together for yer, seeing as ye’re me best mate.’

‘This is more like it, girl!’ Amy faced her friend across the table. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a lady of leisure. If someone could trace me family tree, I’m sure they’d find me ancestors were very wealthy. They could even have been of the nobility,
’cos I’ve always had the feeling that I was cut out for better things.’ Her body shook with laughter. ‘Don’t worry, girl, I won’t be expecting yer to curtsy to me. A slight nod of yer head will do.’

‘D’yer think one of yer ancestors lost the family wealth through gambling and loose women?’ Mary’s face was deadpan. ‘That could account for yer being reduced to sitting in the living room of a two-up two-down house, eating broken biscuits. It could also account for yer obsession with what goes on in the bedroom.’

Amy laced her chubby fingers and nodded her head. ‘Someone’s got a lot to answer for, haven’t they, girl? Dragging me down from riches to rags.’

‘Money doesn’t always bring happiness, sunshine.’

‘No, I know that, but at least yer can be miserable in comfort. I wouldn’t mind the kids running riot if I was stretched out on one of those chaise longue things, with a glass of whisky in one hand and a big box of Cadbury’s in the other.’

‘We don’t do too bad, Amy, we’re better off than some in the street. At least Stan and Ben are working, even if they do get a lousy wage. We’ve always managed to scrape along somehow. And things can only get better with the kids growing up.’ Mary topped the cups up and put the cosy back on the teapot. ‘Yer’ve got your John working already, bringing in a few bob, and Eddy will be leaving school in eighteen months, same time as our Jenny. Then yer’ll only have Edna at home, and yer won’t know yerself. Yer’ll be living the life of Riley.’

Amy grinned. ‘I wish I knew this Riley feller, he could give me a few tips. I don’t know what he’s got that nobody else has, but I’d like a bit of it.’ Her brows drew together. ‘What are yer looking at, girl?’

‘Unless I’m seeing things it’s starting to rain. Hang on, I’ll make sure.’ Mary opened the kitchen door and groaned. ‘It’s only spitting at the moment, but there’s a dirty big
black cloud overhead so we could be in for a downpour.’

Amy’s legs were too short to reach the floor, so she had to shuffle her bottom to the edge of the chair before she could push herself up. ‘Damn, blast and bugger it! I was hoping to have the washing dried and ironed before teatime. There’s nothing I hate more than wet clothes drippin’ on me bleedin’ head while I’m seeing to the dinner. The kitchen gets full of condensation and the steam’s so thick yer’ve got to fight yer way through it.’ She adopted the stance of a boxer, her shoulders hunched and her clenched fists stabbing the air while her feet danced in time with them. For a small woman carrying a lot of weight she could certainly move. ‘Like this, girl, that’s how I fight me way through the steam.’

‘Yer’ve got a screw loose, Amy Hanley.’ Mary grinned at the woman who never failed to cheer her up. There might be black clouds in the sky, but when her mate smiled, and her pretty face creased, she brought sunshine into the house. ‘Yer’ll need to be able to fight if Annie Baxter heard yer talking about her. She’ll have yer guts for garters.’

‘Huh! She’s small fry, that one. I wouldn’t need to fight
her
– one good puff and she’d be out for the count.’