Sunlight on the Mersey (14 page)

‘I know. It’s not right, not after everything you went through. Our Charlie was in the Pals’ Regiment.’

‘So was I, the Seventeenth Battalion,’ he replied and then he smiled again. ‘But it’s over and now I’ve got a steady job and I’ve met you, so things are definitely looking up.’

She smiled back; she liked him.

‘I’ll drop these off later, that’s another of my duties. Driving the horse and cart. You never know, if things pick up sufficiently I might be able to persuade the boss to trade the nag in for a van.’

Iris thought this was being a bit too optimistic but she didn’t say so. ‘So, I’ll be seeing you later then?’

You’ll be seeing quite a bit of me, Miss Mundy, if you’re taking over,’ he replied, thinking she was a fine-looking girl.

‘Call me Iris. “Miss Mundy” makes me feel so
old
!’ she laughed. Being addressed in this manner reminded her of how much responsibility she’d taken on.

He grinned. ‘And I’m Tom.’

‘Well, I’ll see you later on, Tom. I’d better be off. Mam’s beckoning me so I think it’s time to go,’ she replied, feeling for the first time in weeks that there was a little brightness in her life. She looked forward to seeing Tom Morrissey again.

A
S THE DAYS OF AUTUMN
slipped by and September turned to October and then November, life began to take on a semblance of normality again, although the loss of Bill was still raw. For Kate there were days – at quiet times – when she could almost feel his presence in the shop. Her sense of loss would then overwhelm her and she would break down. She missed him so much and always would.

She did admit that although running Bill’s business was rather more complicated than she had at first envisaged, at least it wasn’t quite as physically demanding as running the greengrocery had been. She was still providing a necessary service for local customers but since she was dealing with her neighbours’ financial dilemmas they often divulged things they wouldn’t have mentioned when buying vegetables. At
first she had found this rather embarassing but gradually she had come to see why Bill had been so liked and respected. He’d offered advice and tried to help, often in cases where the only answer would have been a steady, decently paid job for at least one member of a family, and he had been scrupulous in keeping their confidences to himself. Her customers included wives of men who squandered what little they earned on drink or illicit gambling like pitch and toss or the horses. She had on more than one occasion seen women in tears, driven to desperation at how to put food on the table when most of a pitifully small wage had gone over the counter in one of the hundreds of pubs along the Dock Road. Mary Duncan was one such wife: she had confided that it had been Bill who had found a solution, suggesting she go and meet Ned from work on Fridays to deter him from stopping at the first pub he came to and that generally it worked. Kate was determined to honour Bill’s memory by serving his customers as loyally as he had. For that reason she’d remained firm in her decision to stick to Bill’s rates, despite having several arguments with Charlie over the amount she lent on pledged items. She was the one who had to deal with desperate customers, not him, she’d told her son, thinking that he was becoming obsessed with making money and saving.

Over the weeks Iris had got to know Tom Morrissey quite well and he had finally asked her out to the music hall on the first Saturday in November.

‘Aren’t you too tired to go out? You’re both up so early
every morning and then you’re on your feet in the shop all day and we were really busy today. I’m worn out,’ Rose had enquired as she watched her sister brushing her short auburn hair before placing the small black felt cloche over it.

Iris had shaken her head as she contemplated her reflection in the mirror. ‘No, and it’s not as if we’re going to be doing anything as energetic as dancing. We’ll be sitting down enjoying the show. But I wish I had something a bit brighter to wear. Black doesn’t suit me.’ They were still in mourning of course.

‘You suit it better than I do, though I don’t mind wearing it for . . . Da,’ Rose had commented. ‘You really like Tom Morrissey, don’t you?’

Iris had nodded, a pink tinge creeping across her cheeks. She did like him, she liked him a lot, and she’d been wishing he’d ask her out for a long time. They got on well together, they liked the same things, and they had a similar sense of humour and optimistic outlook on life. He was now the eldest of a family of four. His older brother had been killed in the war and his two sisters were younger than him. His father had worked on the docks all his life and up until recently his mother had cleaned at the ‘Immigrant House’: a building owned by Cunard where the immigrants waiting to embark on one of the company’s ships were housed until they left for a new life in America. Florence had commented that that must be a very hard way indeed to make money and she’d agreed; Mrs Morrissey had given it up for that very reason and the fact that her arthritis was getting worse.

‘So, that’s you and Charlie walking out,’ Rose had said, feeling dispirited.

Iris had turned to her. ‘Rose, this is the first time. You can’t say we’re “walking out” – not yet – but I hope . . . well, I hope it won’t be the one and only time he asks me,’ she’d confided, feeling a little apprehensive. Of course she saw him every day but this was
different.

He was waiting for her outside the Rotunda, peering into the window of one of the shops that constituted most of the building’s ground floor. He turned and grinned. ‘I was just wondering what kind of sweets you’d like? Fruit Pastilles or Everton Mints?’ She looked very smart, he thought admiringly. Her black coat was trimmed on the collar with black braid and she was wearing a small hat that suited the shape of her face. A white scarf was tucked into the neck of her coat.

‘You don’t have to go buying me sweets, Tom. I brought some nuts for us to eat.’ She held out the small paper bag. Bert Bradshaw didn’t pay him very much, she’d already surmised.

He took her arm and guided her towards the theatre lobby. ‘Well, if you won’t let me buy you sweets I’m going to get a programme,’ he said as he bought their tickets, which she noted were not for the cheapest seats up in the gods.

They both enjoyed the show for there was a wide variety of acts, not all of which were appreciated by the audience, who didn’t hesitate to make their feelings known.

‘Oh, don’t you feel sorry for that poor man! All that
shouting and booing!’ Iris laughed as a magician whose last trick had gone spectacularly wrong was jeered and booed off stage.

Tom laughed too. ‘You’ve got to admit he wasn’t much good. At least no one started throwing things. I’ve seen that happen in the past.’

‘That’s why Florence isn’t allowed to come to the music hall. Her mam says it’s too rowdy,’ Iris said. She’d often mentioned her friend to him.

‘It can be but it’s good fun. Sounds a bit too straight-laced, her mam,’ Tom remarked, helping himself to the nuts Iris had brought along.

There wasn’t time for further conversation as the next act was announced and they settled back to enjoy ‘Arthur Delaney, King of Comedy’.

Tom took her hand as they walked to the tram stop at the end of the evening. ‘Have you enjoyed yourself, Iris?’ he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. ‘I have and thank you but I’m glad I can have a lie-in in the morning.’

He smiled at her. ‘So am I, although I don’t really mind getting up early. Will we go out again next Saturday?’

‘I’d like that, Tom,’ she replied, feeling quite elated and also relieved that he’d asked.

‘You know I liked you the very first time I met you at the market, Iris, and since then . . . well, we get on, don’t we?’ He felt a little embarrassed at revealing his feelings on a crowded street.

‘We do get on well together, Tom,’ Iris replied, thinking of what Rose had said. ‘Our Rose said I suppose now I’ll say we’re “walking out”,’ she added a little hesitantly, wondering if she was being a bit forward.

‘Well, we are, aren’t we?’ he asked questioningly.

‘Oh, yes, Tom!’ Iris replied happily. ‘I just hope Rose isn’t going to feel a bit left out what with Charlie and Florence and now . . . us. She’s only ever been out with one boy and that ended in disaster.’

He nodded. ‘She’ll find someone, Iris. One day her “Mr Right” will come along.’

‘Just like you did.’

He squeezed her hand, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her but not in front of all these people waiting for the tram. ‘Have Charlie and Florence been courting long?’

‘Months now and I have the feeling that he’s going to ask her to marry him soon,’ Iris replied with a sharp edge to her voice. She still didn’t approve.

‘Do I get the feeling that you won’t be too happy to have her as your sister-in-law? I thought she was your friend – isn’t that how they met?’

‘She is my friend and I’d love her as a sister-in-law but I just don’t think it will work. You should see the house she lives in. Her father is really well off. He’s even replaced his three delivery carts and the teams of horses with motor lorries – Florence said he finds them quicker and more economical and hopes they will increase his business. If she marries our Charlie she can’t expect anything like the comfort and luxuries
she has now. Her mam doesn’t even expect her to contribute anything, she can spend all her wages on herself. That’s what she used to do, but lately she’s been telling me she’s saving, so I think she’s actually hoping they’ll get engaged.’

‘Well, if they love each other I don’t suppose she’ll mind having to do without things. I wouldn’t – in her shoes,’ Tom said.

Iris wanted to say that she thought Charlie had an ulterior motive for marrying Florence but she didn’t. She still couldn’t get the thought that he was just using Florence to get his hands on her father’s business out of her mind.

Charlie had been saving hard but it wasn’t easy and the rings he’d been looking at cost a small fortune. He wanted to get Florence something good – a decent-sized diamond – but realised that his savings wouldn’t stretch to that, not in the jewellers’ windows he’d looked in so far. At the end of the month he had determined to ask her father formally for his consent and he’d hoped to be able to provide an acceptably sized ring.

He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets as he walked along Scotland Road towards home on the Monday evening, having got off the tram three stops early. He was pondering asking his mother for her advice when a thought occurred to him. Did the ring really have to be a new one? What if he were to buy an unredeemed pledged ring? He’d get more for his money but would Florence or, more importantly, her parents frown on that? There was a big pawnbroking
establishment a bit further down the road, Cookson’s; they’d been there for years and years. He’d have a look in the window and maybe ask for some advice.

He studied the rings they had in the window but saw nothing that impressed him so decided to go in.

Mr Cookson looked up irritably as Charlie entered, he was just ready to close up. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’ he asked curtly.

‘I’m sorry it’s late, I’m on my way home from work, but I wanted to ask your advice. I know you have a great reputation in the trade and my father was a pawnbroker, sir,’ he added to mollify the man, who was obviously impatient for his supper.

‘Really?’

‘Bill Mundy,’ Charlie supplied.

The older man’s expression immediately changed. ‘Ah, yes. Terrible tragedy, that was. So, you’re his son. What can I help you with, lad?’

‘I’m hoping to get engaged at Christmas and I’d like to get Florence a really good ring; she comes from a far . . . better . . . background than me, you see,’ he began.

Mr Cookson smiled and nodded. ‘Don’t want the young lady to be disappointed or the future in-laws to look down their noses.’

Charlie nodded enthusiastically. ‘You’ve hit the nail right on the head, but I can’t afford what they’re charging in T. Brown’s or Boodles or the like. I was thinking of something second-hand.’

‘So you’ve decided on an unredeemed pledge? It’s a wise decision, er . . .’

‘Charlie. Charlie Mundy, sir. I think I’ll get more for my money that way. I’ve been saving hard and that’s not easy to do on a mere clerk’s wages.’

‘You will get a better deal, Charlie. How much can you afford to spend?’

Charlie knew to the penny. ‘I think I can stretch to six guineas but that’s my very top limit.’

The older man nodded slowly. ‘That’s not a bad amount. I don’t have anything suitable in at the moment but trust me, I’ll find you something before Christmas. Times are hard and getting harder, you’d be surprised at the type of people who are having to pawn or sell things these days and I have contacts amongst the big jewellers.’

‘I’d be so very grateful to you. I knew asking your advice was the right thing to do.’

‘And of course I’ll give you a bit of a discount, your father having been in the trade. How is your mother getting on? I don’t know her personally of course but it must be hard for her.’

‘She’s slowly coming to terms with it. She’s taken over his shop but . . .’ He shrugged not wanting to say that if he was running it he was certain they’d make more of a profit. ‘Well, I’ll let you close up. Thanks again, sir. I’m really grateful.’