Two Penn'orth of Sky (11 page)

Emmy was about to expostulate, to say that a key dangling through the letter box was an open invitation to a thief, but then she checked herself. In all the years that she had lived in the court, she had never heard of a break-in, though there had been cases of people robbing their own gas meters, or popping next door to borrow a cup of sugar and never returning it. Besides, she realised that Diana, even if she did not know it, was trying to fit in. What other children did, she would do, and other children pulled the latch key up through the letter box, they did not have their own key on a piece of string round their necks. Indeed, for a big family, this would have been impossibly expensive, as well as risky, for,
children being children, the younger ones would probably have lost their latch keys the first time the weather was warm and someone suggested a game of alley football or a dip in the Scaldy.

But Diana was still shaking her head, still staring. Emmy said, placatingly: ‘Yes of course, I was forgetting. Now you may have two biscuits with your lemonade, and then you can play outside for a bit, whilst I get us some luncheon.’

‘Dinner,’ Diana said quickly. ‘It’s dinner in the middle of the day, Mammy, and tea when your daddy gets home. Or supper; some famblies call it supper.’

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry,’ Emmy said humbly, as the two children left the kitchen. A pang had gone through her when Diana had mentioned the returning fathers, but Diana herself had clearly not been affected by her remark. This daughter of hers was going to fit in far better and more easily than she herself would, yet Emmy had been born and bred in this very house. But it will be all right when I get a job, Emmy reminded herself, finishing her cup of tea and going over to the cupboard where her vegetables were kept. Mr Reynolds had drilled holes in it, explaining that this would allow air to circulate, which would help the vegetables to remain fresh for longer. ‘Though you’ll be wantin’ to buy spuds an’ that each day at this time of year,’ he had warned her. ‘If you don’t, you’ll find the spuds wi’ shoots six inches long and little green leaves at the top afore you know it. An’ cabbage . . . well, they shoot like Jack’s beanstalk, if you know what I mean.’

But the vegetables had only been in the cupboard since Emmy had brought them from Lancaster Avenue the previous day, so now she opened the door and began to count potatoes into the colander.
She decided half a dozen would be sufficient and was about to close the cupboard again when she heard a little scraping noise and caught a flicker of movement. She drew back just as a small, grey form emerged from behind some carrots. Emmy was almost sure it was munching. She was not frightened of mice but did not much fancy the thought of sharing her kitchen, let alone her vegetables, with the creatures, and began to try to evict it. She got it out of the vegetable cupboard but lost it under the sink, and was wondering how the working party had managed to miss its entry hole when there was a brisk bang on the front door followed by footsteps along the hallway, and then the kitchen door burst open and Beryl appeared.

‘Hello, queen, how are you doing?’ she said breezily. ‘Most of us have our main meal in the evenin’ when the fellers come home so I thought I’d come over and bring a loaf and a heel of cheese; if you’ll provide the tea, I’ll do the rest. I sent young Diana back to my place wi’ Becky. I’ve left ’em bread an’ cheese an’ home-made lemonade – Charlie will see everyone gets a share – and I thought you an’ me might have a bit of a chat while we eat.’

Emmy felt a huge wave of relief engulf her. There was so much she did not know, so much she needed to ask Beryl! Now that she came to think of it, she and Diana never had a main meal at lunchtime but saved it for the evening, even when Peter was not home. Of course, she had never had to prepare lunch, but Lucy had done so, and it was usually sandwiches and an apple, or a sausage roll each, followed by a piece of cake. What had she been thinking of, about to prepare potatoes and cabbage and carrots this early in the day? But Beryl was looking at her so kindly,
with so much understanding, that she suddenly found her eyes were filling with tears and she flung herself on the other woman, weeping unrestrainedly. ‘Oh, Beryl, whatever is the matter with me?’ she sobbed. ‘I
know
most folk have their main meal at night – we did ourselves in Lancaster Avenue – yet I started getting a proper dinner in the middle of the day! Oh, Beryl, am I going mad?’

Beryl gave her a hearty hug and then a shake. She was laughing but her eyes were still full of sympathy and understanding. ‘No, you aren’t goin’ mad, queen,’ she said gently. ‘But you’re in a rare old muddle, ain’t you? Diana telled me you were goin’ to cook a dinner so I thought I’d come over and sort you out a bit. Besides, I’ve got something important to tell you. Remember that big dining rooms on the Scottie? Well, it were more of a chop house really . . . heaps of businessmen go there for their grub. You were pally wi’ one o’ the girls what worked there – Iris, wasn’t it? – afore you wed.’

‘McCullough’s,’ Emmy said, triumphantly, after a moment’s thought. ‘Yes, I remember it. They paid all right and Iris used to get a lot of tips. She was ever so pretty and had a way of looking at the fellers through her lashes which brought the money tumbling out of their pockets.’

‘Yes, that’s right, McCullough’s,’ Beryl agreed. ‘Well, they’ve got a vacancy for a waitress. I believe it’s shift work because they open at seven in the morning for breakfasts and close around ten to half past, at night. But as you say, the money’s good and I dare say they’ll be able to arrange the hours to suit.’

Emmy could not help herself. She spoke before she had thought, the words tumbling off her tongue. ‘Oh, but Beryl, I’ve never been a waitress. I mean to
look for an office job, either on reception or as a secretary. I worked in an office before, and I thought . . . I thought . . .’

Beryl heaved a sigh. ‘The sort of secretarial work you’d get wouldn’t earn you enough to pay your rent and feed yourself and Diana,’ she said bluntly. ‘If I remember rightly, chuck, I earned more working on a factory assembly line than you got for being in the typing pool at the Royal. You can’t afford to ignore the money for the sake of being able to say you work in an office, norrany more.’

Emmy felt her cheeks grow hot. Beryl was right, of course. She did not fancy telling folk that she was a waitress, but saying she had an office job would have been acceptable enough. Come to that, she remembered, guiltily, that she had never actually told Peter what her job at the Royal entailed. She had said she was the secretary for the Head of Claims, and since Peter hadn’t visited her at work he had never discovered that, in fact, her position was rather more lowly. However, Emmy had never kept a secret from Beryl in her whole life and she remembered, now, how Beryl had laughed at her, telling her that she was lucky she did not have to take her wages home and hand over a weekly sum to her mother. ‘If you did, you wouldn’t have enough to buy yourself an ice cream in the interval at the flicks,’ she had teased. ‘I like me brothers and sisters and wouldn’t be without them, but you’ve shown me the advantages of being an only child, young Emmy.’

Right now, however, Beryl was looking at her quizzically, and once more Emmy hurried into speech. ‘You’re right, of course, you always are – oh, how I wish I were sensible like you! But . . . but I don’t know anything about being a waitress, so why
should they employ me? I don’t want to lie and pretend I’ve had experience at waiting on because they’ll soon realise that it’s not true.’

‘They’ll employ you ’cos you’re so perishin’ pretty,’ Beryl told her frankly. ‘As for waitin’ on, I don’t know as you’d need much experience, they just like you to be quick and neat, I think.’ She eyed her friend consideringly. ‘To tell the truth, Em, I think it’ll be good for you. You’ll meet lots of people – ordinary people, not smart ones earning big salaries – and you’ll make pals. I know you had one or two friends at the Royal, but these girls will be more . . . more down to earth, I s’pose you could call it. The girl who told me about the job – Freda, her name is – said that McCullough’s employs a huge staff and that everyone’s real friendly an’ helpful towards each other.’

‘It sounds lovely,’ Emmy said quickly, and was glad she had done so when she saw Beryl’s face clear. ‘Can I apply at once? Does it have to be in writing or do I just go round there?’

Beryl laughed. ‘Freda’s a pal of mine from way back, when we both worked on the assembly line. I axed her to let me know when a job were comin’ up, ’cos the best thing out is to gerrin when the boss first hears he’s goin’ to be a member of staff short. Gettin’ someone means advertisin’ an’ interviewin’, ’cos McCullough’s is too big just to put a card in the window, like. But if a pretty girl comes along the same day his waitress gives in her notice, then the chances are he’ll give her the job an’ save himself trouble, see?’

‘Yes, I see,’ Emmy said doubtfully. ‘But you haven’t answered my question, Beryl. Do I go round there or what?’

‘The waitress who’s goin’ to give in her notice is
havin’ a baby,’ Beryl said. ‘She’s been waitin’ until she begins to show but she’s decided to leave at the end of this coming week because she’s havin’ what they call a sick pregnancy. She says it’s all right when she’s on the afternoon shift but she can’t go on throwin’ up out the back when she’s on earlies without someone noticin’. So if you go round to McCullough’s – Mac’s, the girls call it – around eleven o’clock on Friday, you may be lucky.’

‘Right, I’ll do that,’ Emmy said eagerly. Suddenly, she felt full of hope and enthusiasm. She realised she had been allowing the new little house – which was not really new to her at all – to depress her. She had not known how much she would miss the beautiful garden in Lancaster Avenue, nor the spacious airy rooms, not to mention the constant companionship of young Lucy. She guessed that Diana would not spend as much time with her as she had done in Lancaster Avenue, because here the child only had to step out of her front door to find a great many companions. All the courts swarmed with children and though Emmy might tell herself that this was a good thing and would make life very much easier for her daughter, she now had to acknowledge that it would mean that she herself would not be as important to Diana as she had been in Lancaster Avenue.

So, clearly, the sooner she could get work the better and what did it matter, after all, whether she worked in an office or a restaurant? What really counted was earning enough money to keep herself and Diana and being able to cope with the work. Thinking about it, she realised that, though she had not forgotten her shorthand, it would undoubtedly be extremely rusty, whilst her typewriting, which had once been fast, would have slowed down a lot. It was horrid having
to remind herself that she might not be able to hold down an office job, but with Beryl’s eye upon her she had to acknowledge the truth, if only to herself. If she went back into an office, she would have to start at the bottom of the ladder, and it might be many months – years, even – before the young Mrs Wesley earned as much as the even younger Miss Dickens had once done.

‘What about clothes though, Beryl?’ she said. If she had been applying for an office job, she would have worn her best and most expensive outfit, but she realised she had no idea what a prospective waitress should wear. ‘Does it matter? Only they wear a sort of uniform, don’t they?’

‘Wear something plain, preferably dark,’ Beryl said. ‘They’ll tell you what they want you to wear if you get the job, but for the interview . . .’ Her eyes flickered over Emmy’s figure and Emmy glanced down at herself. She was wearing a black skirt and a dark grey cardigan beneath the pink gingham wraparound apron which she always wore when she was doing some small task in the house. ‘What you’re wearing now is fine, Em. Oh, and you’ll need flat shoes, black ones. D’you have any?’

Emmy mentally reviewed the many pairs of shoes in her wardrobe upstairs, then shook her head sadly. ‘I’ve got plenty of brown walking shoes but no black ones,’ she admitted. ‘I’d best buy some before Friday, then.’

Beryl cast her eyes at the ceiling and heaved a dramatic sigh. ‘You will do nothing of the sort,’ she remarked. ‘We’ll get some black shoe dye from Clarkson’s on the Scottie; it’ll only cost but a few pennies. Now, how about makin’ me a cup of tea?’

*

‘Becky, where’s Charlie gone?’ Diana’s voice was shrill and aggrieved. ‘He telled me to go into his house and fetch a piece of rope off the dresser, which I done, only now I can’t find him
anywhere
!’

Becky was crouching on the paving stones trying to balance five small pebbles on the back of her hand, but she glanced up as Diana spoke and the pebbles clattered to the ground. Becky scowled. ‘Him and Lenny’s gone off. They’s done Mammy’s messages, took in water, chopped kindlin’ an’ that, an’ now they’s gone to earn some dosh, Charlie said. It’s for the penny rush at the pictures, come Sat’day,’ she added in a kindly tone, seeing Diana’s look of puzzlement. ‘That’s the children’s cinema show,’ she finished.

‘Oh,’ Diana said vaguely. She had never heard of a children’s cinema show – certainly never attended one – and could not imagine why Charlie should need to earn money. Surely, dear Aunty Beryl would give him his Saturday sixpence each week, as her own mammy did? But she was beginning to realise that life was very different here in Nightingale Court from the life she had lived in Lancaster Avenue. Today was Friday and it was the most different day of all, since Mammy had gone off all by herself, refusing to let Diana accompany her. When Diana reminded her mammy that she loved shopping and could help carry the parcels, Mammy had replied, quite sharply, that she was going after a job and that Aunty Beryl and Charlie would give an eye to her. ‘Then what am I to do? What’s you playin’, Becky?’

Becky sighed and stood up. ‘Nothin’ much,’ she said. ‘Did you get the rope? If so, I’ll show you how to skip.’

It was humiliating, having to let a girl a whole
year younger than herself teach her so many things, particularly as Becky was slow for her age, but Diana was getting used to it. Becky had shown her how to mark out a hopscotch pitch and how to choose a flat piece of slate, how to throw it into the square and how to retrieve it afterwards. She had taught her how to play cherry-wobs and marbles and instructed her in the art of collecting broken bits of china to use as currency when playing shop, and now, it seemed, she would teach Diana to skip rope. Diana sighed. She would much rather have been with Charlie, earning pennies for this Saturday rush, but she had promised Mammy not to go out of the court unless she was accompanied by a grown-up, so she had better knuckle down and learn to skip rope – until Charlie returned, that was. Once he was back, she would take up her usual admiring position, some six feet behind him, and would tag him for the rest of the day. She knew this sometimes irritated him, but could not help herself. He was her hero, he had saved her life at New Brighton, and anyway, he liked having someone to cheer him on when he played football, or to sit and chat to him whilst he chopped up orange boxes for kindling, or trekked to and fro carrying Aunty Beryl’s water supply into the house, morning and evening.