A Liverpool Lass (23 page)

And when Lilac took her aunt a cup of tea last thing, before she sought her own bed, she decided she was right, for there was a bottle standing on the far side of the bed, she could just about make it out.

It relieved her mind that Aunt had been so sensible, and presently she went off to bed, well pleased with her day.

September came, and Lilac returned to school. Aunt Ada was well again, in command. But despite the
shillings which the boys and Nellie sent, it seemed it was impossible for her to buy Lilac the clothing she needed for school.

‘Not even new secondhand?’ Lilac said despairingly, when she had been told, in school, that a girl of nearly twelve needed longer skirts and bigger knickers, ‘for decency’s sake, Lilac,’ her teacher said frankly. ‘I know not new
new
, Auntie.’

‘Sorry queen. I don’t know where the money goes, I’m sure,’ Auntie Ada said. She sounded rather guilty, Lilac thought. And it was strange, too, because her aunt had always been a good and careful manager. Lilac could remember many a time when Bessie had been given a telling-off for not making the money Charlie sent go round. ‘Next time our Nellie sends, I’ll put some aside for clothes.’

Christmas came, with letters from Nellie and the boys and little presents, too. It was lonely in the little house in the court, when every other window was lit and every other house bulged with people. Charlie wrote and invited them to his place, Jessie wanted them to go down south to her place, but Auntie just set her mouth and said they couldn’t afford it, not this time, and wasn’t it only right and proper that her kids should come to her?

‘But Charlie can’t, he’s needed by his boss,’ Lilac reminded her aunt. ‘And Jessie’s that busy up at the big house ...’

‘Oh aye, they’re all too busy to come to us and we’re too busy to go to them so we’ll ha’ to mek do,’ Aunt Ada said. ‘We’ll have a quiet day, our Lilac, jus’ the pair of us.’

It was quieter than either of them had expected since on Christmas Day itself Aunt Ada felt under the weather before the dinner was even prepared, let alone
cooked, and stayed in her room. She wouldn’t let Lilac in to minister to her, calling out in a thick, hiccupy sort of voice that she’d got ‘some ‘orrible old disease, and wouldn’t want no one else a-catchin’ of it.’

She was all right Boxing Day, quite pleasant, in fact, though a bit unsteady on her pins. She and Lilac cooked and ate the dinner which Lilac had not had the heart to prepare the day before, then they played cards with the new pack Matt had sent all the way from France, and ate the first layer of a box of chocolates contributed by Nellie. On the next day she had a drink with her dinner, just something to warm her, then they walked down to the docks and looked at the big ships and talked to one or two others, walking like themselves in the brisk winter afternoon.

Lilac began to think that things were going on very nicely, that Aunt Ada’s strange sickness was clearly gone, and that they might enjoy the rest of the holiday after all, since school did not start again until after the New Year. But on 27th December it suddenly grew very cold, and it was at this unpropitious moment that she discovered they had run out of coal so they couldn’t have a fire.

‘Never mind, I’ll tek some money from the teapot and go and buy a bag of coal,’ Lilac said, when Aunt Ada announced she had used the last shovelful. ‘Art will come with me, help me to carry it.’

Aunt Ada muttered something ... and it was then that Lilac discovered there was no money in the teapot. She stared hard at its dull tin interior for a moment, almost unable to believe her eyes. Food and coal money had always been stowed away in here as soon as the shillings came in from the boys and Nellie. What on earth had happened to it? Although they had had a small joint of pork for dinner on Boxing Day, there had
been no extra expenses. A nice bread pudding had been served, and there had been the chocolates ... oh no, Nellie had sent the chocolates ... so just where had the money gone?

Auntie muttered about winter prices and rationing and how hard life was for a widow-woman on her own and then took herself off and after a thoughtful moment, Lilac took herself off as well, only in the opposite direction. She went across to the O’Briens’ and knocked.

‘Is Art about?’ she said when Art’s small brother Joshua came to the door.

‘No, chuck, ‘e’s gone to see Fred,’ a voice called from behind Josh’s square, squat figure. It was Mrs O’Brien, mellowed, it seemed, by Christmas spirit. ‘D’you know where Freddy lives?’

‘That’s all right, Mrs O’Brien, I’ll find him,’ Lilac called back. ‘Thanks very much.’

She knew where Freddy lived all right, but had no interest in finding both boys together. Art was a tower of strength, but only when he was away from his mates. With them, he was just as bad as any other lad. So what I must do I must do alone, Lilac told herself, heading determinedly up Scotland Road. Fortunately, she remembered an expedition with Art when he had pointed out to her the goods depot on Old Haymarket, and the close proximity of the coal-heap to a brick wall – a perfectly climbable brick wall what was more.

‘We get us onto that wall, one hands up lumps and t’other shoves ’em in the bag,’ he had explained. ‘Eh, coal scrumpin’s not bad, not ’ere.’

Girls, it had appeared, held aloof from coal scrumping expeditions, though they warmed themselves freely enough at the stolen fires. But actually nicking the stuff was a mucky business, best left to boys ... when boys
there were. Lacking Art, it seemed that Lilac must simply do her best herself.

She reached the coalyard in mid-afternoon. It was very cold, her breath hung round her face in a misty halo and the smell of trains, the sulphur of smoke, the axle grease, the peculiar odour of the coal itself, hung heavy in the damp air.

She walked round the goods yard, taking notice but pretending to be playing some girlish game. She had a length of rope and skipped with it, threw it into the air and caught it, cast it onto the ground and jumped in and out of the loop it made. And all the while the dusk was deepening and presently the sky was almost as dark as the earth and it was the hour which is said to be neither dog nor wolf, a time when a small silhouette, seen for a moment against the dark sky, can easily be just a trick of the dusk.

Lilac tucked her skirt into her knickers and shinned up the wall without fuss. Sitting astride it, she looked around, a quick, furtive glance. She saw no one ... but there was the coal, a huge glistening heap of it, just waiting for someone to start nicking!

The only trouble was, she was alone. She could steal the coal but to whom should she pass it? Which meant she must stuff it into her clothing and then try to get back over the wall with it – or she could throw some good pieces down onto the pavement and then follow, filling the sack she had brought.

The trouble was, she might throw coal over and someone else might nick it, or be hit on the head with it of course. Or someone might nab her whilst she was collecting the stolen coal and drag her off to the nearest police station and hand her over to the rozzers.

The wall was high and the lumps of coal very much larger than Lilac had anticipated. She picked up a
piece, using both hands, leaning right down from the wall, then tried to straighten. She found she could not; the coal was too heavy. She put it down again, breathlessly, and picked up a smaller piece. Better. She hefted it shoulder high, went to throw ... and froze. A man, in uniform, was walking along in the shadow of the wall. He was humming a tune, looking down at his feet ... oh God, don’t let him look up, Lilac prayed. Don’t let him notice me!

God heard, or at least the man continued to stare at his stout boots. Once he was out of sight Lilac counted ten and then began, as gently as she could, to drop the coal onto the pavement. It was getting darker all the time and after a while she realised that she would not be able to carry any more, even if she could see to pick it up, which was getting more and more doubtful. She slithered down off the wall, her hands blackened by coal dust, her, legs and skirt by contact with the wall. She felt around for the sack, found it, began to push pieces of coal inside.

When it was full she straightened her aching back and tried to sling the sack onto her shoulder. She was reminded of the pictures in boys’ comics of men in black masks with sacks marked ‘swag’ slung over their backs. But she could not even lift the bag off the ground, so that was another challenge to ingenuity.

Now and then someone passed, but when they did Lilac just slumped against the wall with her head down and no one seemed to notice her.

When she had half-emptied the sack she tried again and to her joy, found she could just lift it. But there was all the rest of the coal – it broke her heart to leave it after all her hard work. Still, she could come back later and reclaim it, she decided, heaving her sack up in her arms and beginning to stagger back the way she had come.

It was a good walk back to Coronation Court and by the time she was halfway, Lilac was having to stop every few yards. She got home in a state of collapse, wheezed across the paving and clattered the coal down in a heap at the front door. She shoved the door open and staggered into the room.

Aunt Ada was nowhere in sight. The fireplace was empty, of course, the plates from their dinner still on the table. There was someone moving about upstairs, she could hear an occasional thump, but that was all.

First, get some kindling and light the fire, then put the kettle on, Lilac ordered herself. When the kettle’s boiling go and tell Aunt Ada that she can come down and get warm, then have a sit-down, then go back for the rest of the coal.

There was kindling at the back of the stove. Lilac fished some out and began to arrange it, wigwamlike, in the grate. She had no matches, but surely there should be some on the dresser ... she knelt up but could see none. Blow, no luck there. Better see if Auntie knew ...

There was a knock on the door and before she could get off her knees, it opened and Art appeared in the doorway.

‘Hello, chuck,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Our Josh said as ’ow you’d been round after me. Is there ... Hey-up! What’ve you bin doin’?’

‘Me? Oh, just buyin’ a bag of coal from the coal-merchant on Great Howard Street,’ Lilac said casually. ‘Wondered if you’d walk down with me, that’s all.’

Art gave a disbelieving snort.

‘
Buyin
’? I weren’t born yesterday, young Lilac,’ he observed. ‘No one never got that dirty a-buyin’. You’ve been nickin’, ain’t you?’

‘We-ell ... yes. From that goods yard you showed
me, Art,’ Lilac said all of a rush. ‘Auntie had run out of coal, we couldn’t even have a fire and it’s awful cold ... she’s not too well again.’

‘My word,’ Art said slowly. ‘You went nickin’ by yourself, Li? Bet you didn’t bring enough ’ome for ’alf a fire.’

Wordlessly, Lilac pointed at her bulging sack. Art whistled.

‘You’re a rare ’un,’ he said at last. ‘You’re a great gairl, Lilac Larkin! Here, I’ll light that for you.’

He set light to the dry kindling, then sat back on his heels and watched as Lilac gently put some of the smaller pieces of coal onto the blaze. She waited until the fire seemed to have taken hold, then put the kettle on.

‘I’ll give Auntie a shout in five minutes, tell her ... oh my Gawd!’

With the words, her eyes had gone instinctively to the clock over the mantel. Except that it was not there. A cleaner patch on the whitewashed wall was the only sign that it had ever been there, in fact.

‘What’s up?’ Art said. ‘You ’membered something?’

‘The clock ... it’s gone, someone must have stole it,’ Lilac whispered. ‘Oh Art, is Auntie Ada all right, do you suppose? Oh, she might of been murdered in her bed!’

Art looked at where the clock had hung, then he looked at the stair. Then he looked long and hard at Lilac. Then he spoke, almost reluctantly, it seemed.

‘She’s popped it, ’asn’t she? You know that, doesn’t you?’

‘Popped it? What, at Cummins, on Great Homer Street? Why would she do that?’

‘Why did you nick the coal?’ Art said practically. ‘No money.’

‘Ye-es, but she didn’t buy coal, nor food, not that I
can see,’ Lilac said, frowning. ‘There’s no food on the table, Auntie hasn’t even cleared our dishes from dinner, and the fire wasn’t lit now, was it? What else would she want?’

Art gave her another of those long looks. Infuriatingly, he looked sorry for her, as though he knew something she did not.

‘Well, now, why don’t you go up and ask ’er?’

Lilac shook her head.

‘Can’t. I got a whole heap more coal, waitin’ for me to pick it up. It’s on the paving beside the goods yard. I’ll ask Auntie in the mornin’.’

‘You ask ’er now,’ Art said. He still sounded sorry for her, as though he only half wanted her to go upstairs. ‘It’s better that you know, queen.’

Lilac stared at him for a moment, then turned and marched up the stairs. She was down again in two minutes. Tears had made two clean paths through the coal dust on her face.

‘Oh, Art! She’s ... she’s ...’

‘She’s been boozin,’ Art said, as though he’d known it all along. ‘Never mind, queen, she’ll be awright come mornin’. Now, d’you want me to come an’ give you an ‘and with that coal?’

They went back and got the coal and afterwards, Lilac realised it was both the beginning and the end of something. It was the end of any sort of family life because once Aunt Ada knew that Lilac knew where the money went, she let the child go very much her own way. And it was most definitely the beginning of freedom.

Aunt Ada never tried to stop Lilac doing things or going places again. Apart from anything else, she
needed the money Lilac began to bring in and was all too often in no state to forbid her to do anything.

When Lilac got back from fetching the rest of the coal that evening she found Aunt Ada downstairs, trying to sober herself up. She was drinking strong tea and she smiled at Lilac as the door opened ... then looked startled.

‘Wha’s ’appened, chuck? Are y’awright?’

‘I had a fall,’ Lilac said rather stiffly. She walked stiffly too, because she’d tripped when the man chased them, sprawling onto the pavement amongst the chunks of coal, barely managing to get away. In fact, had it not been for a leckie, charging down the middle of the road, she was pretty sure both she and Art would have been caught.