Try a Little Tenderness (8 page)

‘Good evening to yer, Mary.’ Seamus swept off his cap with a flourish. ‘Sure I hope the Good Lord is looking after yer, keeping yer fit and well.’

‘Hello, Seamus, and you, Mick. I’m fine, thank you. On top of the world, as yer might say in Ireland.’

‘Yer can thank Mary for getting yer baccy for yer, Seamus Moynihan. I wasn’t in the mood for shopping, so Mary was kind enough to oblige. If it hadn’t been for her yer’d have been puffing on an empty pipe all night, and with the divil’s own temper in yer.’

When Mick laughed, Mary thought what a handsome lad he was. He’d be breaking many a girl’s heart in years to come. ‘Take no notice, Mrs Nightingale, me dad isn’t allowed to have a temper.’ He’d been six years old when his parents brought him to England and, although there was still a trace of his Irish accent, it was now mixed with the Liverpool twang. ‘There’s only one boss in our house, and although I won’t tell yer who it is, I will tell yer that it’s not me or me dad.’

Molly shook an admonishing finger, but there was love and laughter in her eyes. ‘It’s not too old for a spanking, yer are, Mick Moynihan, and don’t yer be forgetting that.’

‘Not too old, Mam, but I think yer’d have a job putting me across yer knees. Yer see, yer’d need yer two hands to stop me from slipping off.’

Mary saw Stan’s familiar figure turn the corner of the street and she laid a hand on Molly’s arm. ‘Ay out, here’s my feller. I’ll see yer tomorrow, sunshine. Ta-ra Seamus, ta-ra Mick.’ She couldn’t resist patting the boy’s cheek. ‘If I was twenty years younger, sunshine, I’d be running after yer.’

‘If yer were twenty years younger, Mrs Nightingale,’ he called after her, ‘yer wouldn’t have to run fast, I’d be letting yer catch me.’

‘I’m going to be stuck for money,’ Mary told her friend as they sat facing each other across the table. ‘I’m all right for food, but it’s the presents. The two girls want clothes, and Stan could do with a new shirt and pullover. The few bob I’ll have isn’t going to run to it.’

‘Do what I’m doing,’ Amy said, her hands curled around the cup. ‘Get a cheque off yer club woman. I’m just as broke as you are, so it’s a case of having to.’ Her chubby face creased in a smile. ‘I’ll be cursing the poor woman every week when she’s due, hoping she falls and breaks a leg before she gets to our house.’ She saw Mary shaking her head and chuckled. ‘Yer know I don’t really hope she breaks a leg, I’m not that wicked. Just a sprained ankle would do, that would be enough to keep her off work.’

‘Amy Hanley, I don’t know how you sleep at night. God will pay yer back one day, you just mark my words.’

‘Nah, He wouldn’t do that. Yer see, girl, God’s got a good sense of humour, which is more than can be said for you.’

‘I’ve got a sense of humour, sunshine, but it isn’t warped, like yours is. Anyway, I think I’ll take yer advice and ask the club woman for a two-pound cheque. That would save me scrimping and scraping. And with our Laura passing that interview for a job at Ogdens, I’ll be able to afford to pay an extra bob a week.’

‘I bet she was over the moon, was she?’

‘Like a dog with two tails. Honestly, she never stopped talking. Anyone would think she was the only one ever to get a job. And what she’s going to do with her pocket-money is no one’s business. Talk about breaking eggs with a big stick, isn’t in it.’

‘I know someone who used to work there, and she said the money wasn’t bad and they were a good firm to work for. She was on packing the cigarettes, and she said they got so many for nothing each week. So your Stan could come up lucky.’ Amy put the cup down on the saucer and wiped
the back of her hand across her mouth. ‘It’s to be hoped your Laura doesn’t start smoking, though, girl. I can’t stand to see a woman with a fag hanging out of the side of her mouth. Always reminds me of a gangster’s moll.’

‘Yeah, I think they look as common as muck.’

‘My grandma used to smoke a clay pipe, mind. I was only little, but I can remember her as plain as day. She used to shuffle to the corner pub every night, with a jug hidden under her shawl for a pint of stout. And she’d sit in her rocking chair, as happy as Larry, puffing at this clay pipe and drinking her stout. Deaf as a doorpost she was, couldn’t hear a word yer said to her. Yer could tell her someone had died, and she’d laugh her bleedin’ head off. Didn’t do her no harm either, ’cos she lived until she was ninety.’

‘There yer are, yer see, a warped sense of humour runs in your family.’ Mary stood up and reached for the cups. ‘Let’s get down to the shops before they close for dinner. I want to get all the ironing done this afternoon, that’ll be one thing off me mind.’

‘I’m ready, girl, I brought me coat with me. I don’t want much shopping, so I can put me things in your basket.’

Mary came back from putting the cups in the kitchen. ‘Yer may have a warped sense of humour, sunshine, and yer may be wicked, but no one could ever say yer were daft. Use my basket indeed, and let me do the carrying.’

‘For crying out loud, girl, I only want a couple of things from the Maypole. It’s not as if I’d asked yer to get me a hundredweight of bleedin’ coal.’

‘Shut yer face, Amy Hanley, and let’s get cracking. And do us a favour, try and behave yerself.’

Their first stop was the Maypole. A young girl assistant came over, smiling. ‘What can I get for yer?’

‘Nothing against you, girl, but I want to see the manager,’ Amy said, pulling herself to her full height and thrusting her bosom forward. ‘I have a complaint to make.’

Mary grabbed her arm. ‘Amy, for heaven’s sake, don’t be making a scene.’

‘Me! Make a scene! Now as if I would.’

The manager, Greg, came in answer to the young assistant’s call. ‘Good morning, ladies, can I help yer?’

Amy’s face was so serious, no one would guess the laughter that was going on inside of her. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Well, I don’t know whether bone’s the right word to use. Do bluebottles have bones?’

Greg looked to Mary for guidance, but as she was as wise as he was, she could only shrug her shoulders. ‘Why do you ask, Mrs Hanley?’

‘’Cos the half of margarine I got off yer yesterday had a ruddy big bluebottle in the middle of it. Fair made me sick, it did.’

Mary stepped back so she was standing behind her friend, and she shook her head at the bewildered manager. ‘She’s pulling yer leg,’ she mouthed.

‘I’m sorry about that, Mrs Hanley.’ Greg kept his face straight. ‘But you can rest assured I did not charge yer for the bluebottle.’

‘I never said yer did, did I? No, I’m a fair-minded woman, and I only want what’s due to me. What I’m asking for is me money back for the margarine the bleedin’ bluebottle ate.’ The shoulders were stiffened and the jaw set. ‘I can’t afford to be feeding no ruddy bluebottles, and yer should have seen the ruddy big hole in the margarine, yer wouldn’t believe it.’

‘Yer should have brought it back, Mrs Hanley.’

‘Brought what back – the hole? Oh, I couldn’t do that! Yer see, I used the hole for me husband’s carry-out.’

All the staff and customers were listening by this time. Amy was noted in the neighbourhood for pulling people’s legs, and if there was free entertainment going, they wanted some.

‘Well, you should have brought the bluebottle back. At
least that would have been some proof that what ye’re saying is true.’

‘Ah, I couldn’t bring that back.’ Amy’s eyes went around her audience. ‘Yer’ll all cry yer eyes out when yer hear this, it’s that sad. Yer see, poor Bluey died from over-eating. Near broke me heart it did, to see him on his back, his little legs waving about until the end finally came. I put him in a matchbox, but I haven’t buried him yet because yer can’t have a burial without flowers. So to give him a decent send-off, I’m here to collect for a wreath for him – and I know yer’ll all be generous. Especially you, Greg, because it’s your fault he’s dead. If you hadn’t been careless enough to let him fly on my margarine, the poor bugger would be still alive. He’d be sitting in your window right now, flying from the brawn to the bacon, really enjoying himself with his sister. She’s sitting on yer boiled ham right now, using it as a lavvy, and wondering where he is.’

The Maypole was usually a very quiet shop, except when Amy Hanley was in it.

‘Ay, isn’t this the gear, girl?’ Amy’s round face beamed. ‘All the food and presents in, and nowt to do but sit back and enjoy ourselves.’

‘You’re looking on the bright side, aren’t yer?’ Mary had finished wrapping the dress she’d bought Laura for Christmas and was tying the parcel with green string. ‘What about preparing all the spuds and veg, cooking the turkey, making the stuffing and gravy? There’s stacks of jobs to do yet, and I’m going to start on them as soon as yer’ve gone, save standing in the kitchen all night.’ She patted the stack of presents and smiled with pleasure. ‘That’s them seen to. I just hope they like them.’

‘Of course they will! And as I was saying to meself as I was wrapping mine, it’s too bleedin’ bad if they don’t like them. Yer can only do so much with the money yer’ve got, and we’ve both done that, girl. I mean, me and God are the best of friends, but even He draws the line at performing miracles for me.’

‘He performed one for me last night,’ Mary said. ‘I nearly died when Seamus knocked at the door to say he was getting their Christmas tree today off some bloke he knows who works at the market, and that he’d cadge one off him for us. It’s years since we had a tree, but I’ve still got some decorations upstairs I can use. Apart from brightening the place up, it’ll be nice to come down in the morning to see the presents hanging from it.’

‘Don’t try and hang that pullover of Stan’s on it, it’s so
heavy it’ll pull the bleedin’ tree over, then yer’ll have a right mess.’

‘Credit me with some sense, sunshine, I ain’t exactly brainless. Anything too heavy, I’ll put underneath it.’ Mary picked the parcels up and put them on the sideboard. ‘They can stay there until the tree comes. Molly is expecting her men home about three o’clock and she said she’ll send Mick over as soon as they arrive. That gives me time to prepare tomorrow’s dinner and get this place dusted. The girls are really excited, they can’t wait to help me decorate it.’

‘How is your Laura these days? Still playing yer up, is she?’

‘I’m hoping that when she starts work she’ll have some of the insolence knocked out of her. She’s far too forward for her age.’

Amy lowered her eyes. She’d seen Laura in the entry last night, kissing a boy from the top of the street. And it was the girl who was doing the kissing. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught her at it either, and each time it was with a different boy. Other women had witnessed it too, and many tongues had wagged. One woman had seen Laura take her son’s hand and lead him into a side entry that ran through to the next street. She’d done no more than chase after them, boxed her son’s ears in front of the girl and told him if it happened again she’d get his father to take his belt to him. According to the woman, Laura hadn’t run away or shown fear at being caught. Even the threat of her mother being told didn’t make her turn a hair. She’d just stood by and brazened it out.

Amy sighed silently. Laura Nightingale was more than forward, but how did you tell her mother that when she was your best friend? And not only your best friend, but a thoroughly nice person who deserved better from her eldest daughter. ‘I agree with yer, girl, she is a hard-clock if ever there was one. In her case a few smacks when she was
younger wouldn’t have gone amiss, instead of being spoiled rotten.’

‘Stan’s to blame for that, he can’t see any wrong in her. Mind you, I’ve seen him taking more notice lately and I think the penny has finally dropped. Let’s hope it’s not too late, or she’ll never have any decent friends.’

‘She hasn’t got any now, girl! That Cynthia is a real hard-faced article, as tough as old rope. She treats her mother like a piece of dirt, but like your Laura, she’s as nice as pie to her father. They’re two of a kind and it would be a good thing if they were split up.’

‘I know, I’ve never liked that girl. Laura wanted to ask her to the party but I put my foot down over that.’

Amy laid her arms flat on the table. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask yer, girl, have yer invited yer dad and his wife?’

Mary shook her head. ‘I’ve had sleepless nights over that. He’s me dad, I love him and we’re getting on fine together now. But seeing him with her would spoil the whole thing for me. Just put yerself in my shoes, Amy, and see how you’d like it. She’s younger than me, hasn’t got an ounce of sense in her head and I know she doesn’t look after him properly. To invite her here and be nice to her would be hypocritical. I can’t, and won’t do it.’

‘I’m not blaming yer, girl, I’d probably feel the same in your place. But it’s such a shame ’cos I’ve always liked your dad. And it’s sad that he won’t see his grandchildren over Christmas. Sad for them, as well.’

‘He will see them, sunshine, he’s coming in the morning with presents for them. And I’ve got socks and hankies for them to give him.’

Amy looked puzzled. ‘How can he come in the morning? There’s no trams or buses running on Christmas Day.’

‘He said he’ll walk. I was honest with him, told him about the party and the way I feel. He said he understood but he wasn’t going to miss seeing us tomorrow, so he’s decided to use shanks’s pony. He’ll do it in half an hour, he said.’

Amy sniffed up. ‘It’s sad, that is. I’ll be crying in a minute.’

‘If yer do, it’ll be in yer own house. I want yer to be a good girl and go home, so I can start on the spuds.’

Amy’s bottom shuffled to the edge of the chair. ‘Bleedin’ marvellous, isn’t it, when yer best friend tells yer to bugger off. I mean, even though yer said it nicely, it still means the same, doesn’t it? So I’ll do as yer ask and take me body elsewhere. But before I go, what about tomorrow? Are we all sorted out?’

‘Yeah. Molly’s making a jelly and a dish of trifle, you’re making two dozen fairy cakes and I’m doing the sandwiches. If yer’ll bring them in about six, I can get the table set for seven o’clock.’

Amy swayed towards the door. ‘D’yer want any help making the sandwiches?’