‘Only who’ll take it on in a state like that?’ Sam said gleefully. ‘It weren’t as though old Squab-nose were ever good at his trade, and once that modern butcher’s shop set up only half a dozen doors away his customers left
in a body.’ He cackled. ‘Wonder where the old devil’s gone?’
‘Somewhere Thwaite will never think of lookin’,’ Ernie said, forgetting to keep his voice low. He became aware that Dana was staring at him with open interest. He reached out and gave her cheek an affectionate pat. ‘D’you hear that, Dee? Old Joshua Rayner’s scarpered. Want to start up in the butchery business?’ He chuckled hoarsely. ‘There’ll be a butcher’s shop going beggin’ once all the bluebottles is dead and Thwaite’s managed to persuade someone to take the rotten meat off of his hands.’
When she and Caitlin had first come to work at the Willows they had resented the Liverpudlians’ habit of shortening names, but had finally given up protesting and Dana now answered to Dee, when pressed. ‘Is it a lock-up?’ she said. ‘Me and Caitlin are looking for a room to share … we’re still at the YWCA, which is cheap and cheerful but crowded, and Heyworth Street isn’t all that far from here.’
Sam shrugged, but Ernie considered the question seriously. ‘I dunno whether it’s a lock-up but I squinted through the winder – between the dead bluebottles, y’know – and it’s like most small shops: the bit the customers see, with a long wooden counter, then a door at the back which were wide open, showin’ another room, a storeroom I guess. There’s stairs leadin’ upwards in the storeroom, I remember that much, so I reckon there’ll be some sort of flat above. But you’d not want a whole flat, not on what this job pays; you’d be after a room, somewhere real cheap, with a gas ring to boil a kettle and a bucket for your water. Old Squab-nose would have had
runnin’ water, a yard for his bins, electricity, mebbe – oh, all sorts.’
Dana’s shoulders drooped. ‘You’re right, of course …’ she began, then brightened. ‘But if it was really cheap we might get together with two or three other girls to help pay the rent. There’s always adverts in the
Echo
for girls wanting a flat-share. If we got in first …’
Sam grinned. ‘Wharrabout you two startin’ up in the butchery business? If you promised to clean the place up for free, Thwaite might let you have the flat and the shop for what they calls a peppercorn rent. I can just see you an’ Caitlin in blue and white striped aprons, hatchets in hand and blood up to your elbows as you butcher some poor innocent joint o’ meat.’
Dana sighed and turned back to the sink. She scooped up a handful of dirty water and threw it at the two lads, who guffawed and might have retaliated had not a woman’s large form appeared in the doorway. ‘Did you get them apples?’ Mrs H barked. ‘Sam, what the devil are you doin’ in here when we’s up to our eyes in hungry customers? Gerrout of it the pair of you and let Ginger gerron wi’ them spuds.’
Dana slanted a malevolent glance over her shoulder and began to say that she had not stopped peeling spuds for one moment and did not mean to answer to Ginger as well as Dee, but Mrs H was already turning away, leaving Dana to her task and her thoughts, which were pretty chaotic. She and Caitlin were always on the lookout for affordable accommodation, but though they had now been earning at the restaurant for nearly six months they were always pipped at the post by people who had local friends or relatives to apply on their behalf for any decent
room or flat which came on the market, whereas Dana and Caitlin had left all their friends and relatives in Ireland. However, judging by what Ernie had said, this particular property had only recently become vacant, and folk might not realise that the flat above would also be available.
Dana chopped a quantity of peeled potatoes into pan-sized pieces and carried them through to the kitchen. As soon as she saw her, the cook gave an evil grin, snatched the pan of potatoes and turned to address Ernie and Sam. ‘Ernie, peel them apples; Sam, start choppin’ the mutton for tomorrer’s special. I’m makin’ Lancashire hotpot …’ she looked over at Dana, standing near the sink, ‘which is why I want
all
that sack of spuds peeled, not just a few. Off you go, Ginger.’
For the next two hours the kitchen was a hell of heat and bustle as cooks cooked, waitresses waited and Mrs Haggerty generally harassed her staff. By mid-afternoon, however, Mrs Haggerty had put all the food that would not keep a further day into two large tureens and divided the staff into two sittings, deliberately separating Dana and Caitlin – who would be acting as waitress to customers drifting in for a late snack lunch or early tea – because she knew they liked to be together.
Dana, who was longing to pass on Ernie’s interesting gossip, pulled a face as Caitlin hurried past her and hissed that she had news to impart. There was no chance to exchange more than a few words, however, before Caitlin, having shed her calico overall and donned the white frilly pinafore, white cuffs and trim little cap of a waitress, set off for the dining rooms. Dana grinned to herself as she saw the neat manoeuvre which her friend
executed as she passed Mr Lionel, the restaurant owner, in the doorway. Her friend was beautiful, with dark hair, eyes so deep a blue that they might have been described as violet, and rosy lips. Her skin was creamy, her figure perfection – and Mr Lionel, well known for being a bottom pincher, liked to stand just inside the swing doors which divided the kitchen from the dining rooms so he could fondle the rear of any pretty waitress. Caitlin’s quick swerve as she passed him was to dodge his wandering hands, though it was so neatly done that Dana doubted if Mr Lionel was aware of it. Caitlin was always threatening to jab Mr Lionel in the stomach or tread on his toes – by accident on purpose – as she slithered past, but of course she had never done any such thing. Jobs were scarce, even ill-paid and demanding jobs like this one, and though at present they were lodged at the YWCA, Dana and Caitlin’s ambition was to find a room which they could share at a price they could afford. Anything, in fact, which would get them out of the YWCA.
By the time they left the Willows, a fine drizzle was falling. The girls headed for their tram stop and Dana, bursting with her news, felt quite cross with her friend for talking non-stop about her new admirer, a man in his thirties she rather thought, not precisely handsome but fascinating and attractive, who had asked her to accompany him to a dinner dance the following Saturday and had tipped her a whole quid when she had agreed to go. Indeed, by the time they reached the tram queue Dana’s impatience had got the better of her and she fairly snapped at Caitlin when her friend began to tell
her all over again how attentive her new admirer had become.
‘Shut up and
listen
, will you?’ she demanded hotly as they shuffled nearer the head of the queue, for it was a busy time of day and the conductors were only accepting the first half-dozen would-be passengers. ‘I was in the vegetable scullery …’
The story, however, did not bring a sparkle to those big, dark blue eyes, or a smile to those rosy lips. Caitlin stared. ‘A
butcher’s
shop?’ she said incredulously. ‘Why ever should we be interested in a butcher’s shop? We want somewhere to live decently, with a bit of privacy; I thought we’d agreed on that if nothing else.’
‘Hey, we agree on most things, so we do,’ Dana objected, knowing that she sounded hurt and not caring. She
was
hurt, dammit! ‘And you aren’t listening, Caitlin. It’s not the perishin’ shop we’re interested in, of course it isn’t, but the flat above. According to Ernie, the landlord – his name’s Thwaite – is a stingy blighter who won’t even clean the shop up, and the last tenant left a month ago. But they only discovered he’d gone today, which might mean …’
‘Oh, I see,’ Caitlin said, but she spoke dreamily. ‘I know I’ve told you time out of mind that I never wanted to get involved wit’ a man again, but a rich one … well, that’s different.’
‘It sure is,’ Dana said with a chuckle. ‘Caitlin Flannagan, you little gold-digger! Are you trying to tell me that you’d marry a midden for muck, as the saying goes? Because if so, I don’t believe you. You’ve had admirers by the score ever since we arrived in Liverpool. Half the boys at the YMCA are in love with you and you’re always
telling me that when you’re waitressing the young men fight to be on one of your tables and leave you good tips. Just remember, there’ll have to be a payback for that quid, even if it’s only a lot of kissing and cuddling. How do you feel about that, eh?’
Caitlin smiled guiltily and a dimple peeped in her left cheek. ‘I suppose I’ll have to put up with it since I guess I’ll get married one day; I don’t intend to wait on tables or peel spuds for the rest of my life,’ she said. ‘When I left Dublin to come across the sea, I t’ought I’d get a job as a mannequin in one of the big stores, Lewis’s or Blackler’s, or perhaps as a saleslady in gowns. No one ever told me that finding a job in Liverpool would be as difficult as it was in Dublin, mebbe worse; if I’d known I’d end up skivvying …’
Dana sighed. She and Caitlin had met on the ferry and had immediately seen the advantage of knowing someone when starting life in a big city for the first time. Dana, deeply unhappy and hurt by the circumstances which had caused her to flee her native land, had volunteered very little information about her past; indeed, now that she was on strange ground, she tried never to think of the home she had left. When she had decided to leave she had told herself, perhaps rather melodramatically, that she was slamming the door on her past, and had done so, but Caitlin had not been so reticent. Within a week of entering the YWCA and getting jobs at the Willows as kitchen workers, Dana knew that her new friend had fled her comfortable home and loving family because the young man she had meant to marry had been and gone and wed another.
‘The shame of it,’ Caitlin had moaned. ‘And to make
matters worse, it were my own young sister Patricia his fancy settled on. She asked me to be bridesmaid so I waited till the wedding day and lit out, leaving her a note to say I’d better things to do than dance attendance on a girl three years younger than myself. And I just hope I ruined the wedding for them,’ she had added with unusual bitterness.
Dana had truly sympathised, but as time went on she had begun to suspect that there were two sides to this story and the side Caitlin had imparted was probably biased to say the least.
Oddly enough, Caitlin had simply accepted that Dana had left home to try to repair the family fortunes without asking one question, though her eyes had brimmed with easy, sympathetic tears when Dana had explained that the necessity to earn her own living was caused by the death of her father. ‘You poor thing, alanna,’ Caitlin had said. ‘And you’ve no brothers nor sisters? We’ll make our fortunes in spite of everything, though. I’m sure of it.’
Now, standing at the tram stop, Dana began to suggest that the two of them should not go straight back to the YWCA but should visit the landlord of the flat on Heyworth Street. ‘Someone’s bound to know his address and Thwaite isn’t a common name,’ she said. ‘Oh, be a sport, Caitlin my love! You’re not going to this dinner dance until Saturday, so you’ve almost three days to prepare yourself.’
Caitlin pulled a face. ‘It’s a new dance dress I’ll be needing,’ she pointed out. ‘It’ll take all my savings, but if James – that’s his name, James Mortimer – sees me in my best, perhaps there will be other invitations.’ She
flung an arm round her friend’s neck as the tram drew up beside them. ‘Look, I’ll come wit’ you when I’ve found my dress, and when I marry my duke I’ll find you someone even richer, someone with a stately home and heaps of servants. Maybe you’ll employ the Hag as your head cook and order her about, like she orders you. What d’you say to that?’
Behind the two girls in the queue for the tram, Polly and Myra, who also worked in the Willows kitchens, listened avidly as Caitlin and Dana chatted. ‘If I looked like Kay, I wouldn’t work in any old kitchens,’ Polly said in a low voice. ‘Come to that, if I were Dee – Dana, I mean – I’d ask to be put on waitressing occasionally. It ain’t fair that her pal gets all the tips.’
Myra sniggered. ‘Dee wouldn’t get no tips, not wi’ that bright ginger fuzz she calls hair, an’ the white eyelashes and eyebrows,’ she pointed out. ‘To say nothin’ of havin’ a figure like a stick.’
‘Ye-es, but she’s got … wotsit … you know what I mean,’ Polly said. ‘I admit she ain’t pretty exactly, but she’s got … oh, I dunno what to call it, but I bet she’d get tips awright.’
There was a pause whilst Myra appeared to consider her friend’s words, but when she spoke it was to change the subject. ‘What’s all this about a butcher’s shop? You don’t get girls workin’ for butchers as a rule, ’cos it’s rare hard work; you need to be strong to heft the carcasses out of the lorries and into the shop.’
Polly giggled. She was a small fair-haired girl, skinny as a rake but beginning to put on flesh due, the head cook boasted, to the excellent meals she gave her staff.
Polly, who had been brought up in an orphanage, acknowledged the truth of this, for though the food varied there was always plenty of it. Soggy cabbage, overcooked potatoes, gristly meat and cold pudding, but it was all food. She thought about Myra’s last remark. ‘A
butcher’s
shop? Wharron earth are you on about? Oh, I remember. It weren’t old Rayner’s shop they were talkin’ about, it were the flat above. They were sayin’ – or Dee was at any rate – that they might be able to rent it if they could find another couple of girls to share the expense.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘Wish we could move in and share. Ooh, wouldn’t it be wonderful, Myra? If only we could! But I’m on the very lowest wage old Lionel pays, so no chance of savin’ up. If only I could grow a few inches taller! Mr Lionel did suggest I might waitress at teatime when the trays ain’t so heavy, but Mrs Lionel said she’d be prosecuted for employing child labour and it’s not been mentioned since.’
‘Well, I think you and me should apply for waitress work anyway …’ Myra was beginning when the tram clattered up beside them and the queue began to edge forward. The girls just managed to follow Dana and Caitlin on board before the conductor shot his hand out to prevent anyone else from ascending the platform.