Down Daisy Street (12 page)
‘You’ll miss her,’ Sarah observed, mashing Billy’s potato and adding tomato ketchup to make it more palatable; Billy was no lover of salad. ‘I do hope we gerra lodger fairly soon though, love. The advert’s been in the
Echo
twice now and norra nibble.’
Echo
twice now and norra nibble.’
‘I’m a bit worried meself,’ Kathy said slowly. ‘Jane and I were chatting about the number of lodgers living in the flower streets, and Mam, they’re all men. Mrs Higgins in Crocus Street has got a married couple but she’s the only one. All the rest are fellers, honest to God they are. I know there must be women who earn a good wage and could afford lodgings – well, I suppose there are – but they don’t seem to end up lodging in this side of the city. An’ you don’t really want sharin’, do you?’
‘No I don’t,’ her mother said decidedly. ‘You get two or three young girls crammed into one room, wanting to make their own food in your kitchen and paying very little more than a solitary lodger would. Older, more responsible women won’t want to share and they’re the sort I’m after. Oh, I’m sure we’ll get someone soon; I’ll ask up at the hospital, I think. You never know, we might be lucky.’
Chapter FiveSeptember 1936
‘Only another week and I’ll be back in school,’ Kathy said dolefully, above the din of St John’s market in full swing. ‘And in all the weeks we’ve had our advert in, we haven’t had one application from a lady.’
Kathy was ostensibly buying potatoes, carrots and onions from Jane and catching up on news as she did so. Jane, weighing out the potatoes on the huge scales, smiled sympathetically. ‘I did tell you,’ she said. ‘So what’s your mam goin’ to do? If you left school, that would solve the problem, only I know your mam’s dead set against it.’
‘Oh aye, she won’t hear of it,’ Kathy agreed. She did not envy Jane her job and was sure that she herself would get bored to tears, lugging sacks of vegetables and attending to customers, but she did envy her friend the small independence which even the tiniest wage had given to her. ‘She’s decided to lower her standards; she’s changed the advertisement so it doesn’t say lady lodger.’
Jane giggled. ‘Me dad would say she was raisin’ her standards,’ she observed. ‘Wharrabout that feller from the Osterleys? Eh, when I heard your mam had turned him down, I were that vexed! I know he’s too old for me but he looks just like Errol Flynn – or do I mean Clark Gable? Anyway, he’s the best looking feller I’ve seen for years; if my mam had turned him down for a lodger, I’d ha’ been heartbroken.’
It was Kathy’s turn to giggle. ‘Yes, he is nice looking,’ she agreed. She and Jane had hung about near the Osterleys’ to catch a glimpse of the insurance agent and had been impressed by his flashing dark eyes and raven’s wing hair. Nevertheless, Kathy had agreed with her mother that a lady lodger would be a good deal easier than the handsomest of men. Answering Jane’s question, she said placidly: ‘He were fixed up weeks ago. Well, I say that because the Osterleys left weeks ago and he never came back to our house to ask Mam to change her mind. But there’s plenty of fellows wanting lodgings so I’m sure Mam will have to tell Dorothy’s Tearooms that she’s leaving any time now.’ She saw Mrs Mitchell eyeing her and raised her voice. ‘I’ll have three pounds of carrots and a nice big swede, please.’
Jane turned and began to take handfuls of carrots from the sack behind her, piling them up on the scale and adding a two-pound weight to the one already in position. ‘But if she’s to give a month’s notice, an’ she said she would, and you’re back in a week . . .’
‘I know, she’s left it awful late,’ Kathy agreed. ‘Even if she gets a lodger tomorrow, it won’t help that much, because we’ll have no one to leave Billy with. But I think Mam’s hoping they’ll let her take him in to work, just for a week or two, while she teaches the new manageress the job.’
‘I bet they won’t. The last thing you want in a nice tearoom is a kid crawlin’ round and meddling with the tables,’ Jane said shrewdly. ‘An’ then there’s the fits . . . only he doesn’t have them any more, does he?’
‘Not the bad ones. He’s only had one of them since the time you and I rushed him to the Stanley,’ Kathy observed. ‘He doesn’t have the little tiny things . . . the petits mals . . . so often, either. But we still dare not leave him with anyone who doesn’t understand; it’s got to be Mam or meself.’
‘Tilly would be ideal, but she’ll be back in school, same as you,’ Jane said regretfully. ‘Why doesn’t your mam give a week’s notice? She’s paid weekly, ain’t she? An’ my mam says if you’re paid weekly, a week’s notice is all you have to give. An’ she should know,’ she added with a twisted grin.
‘I know, I know,’ Kathy said as Jane clicked her fingers for the shopping bag to be passed over. She watched her friend tipping the carrots on to the onions and potatoes already within, then fished her money out of her purse. ‘But me mam wants her job back when Billy starts school an’ she’s afraid that if she only gives a week’s notice, they won’t consider her for a management position again.’
‘That’ll be one and threepence. And they probably won’t consider employing her again even if she gives three months’ notice. They say there’s a hundred people after every job these days an’ your mam’s job is a good one. It’ll be snapped up an’ whoever gets it will hang on to it like grim death. You tell her to give ’em a week. Why, if they promote one of the waitresses, or someone from another of the tearooms, they won’t want much training.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Kathy said, handing over the correct money. ‘But Mam doesn’t want to give her notice until we’ve gorra lodger ’cos of the money.’ She glanced around the stall, then pointed to a display of small red apples. ‘How many for a penny?’
Jane picked up four small apples and handed them to her friend, taking the penny in exchange. Billy, seated in a pushchair and below the level of the stall, gave a crow of delight as his sister handed over the fruit. ‘Ta ever so, Janey,’ he shouted. ‘I likes red apples – an’ I likes that big plum what you give me last week.’
Mrs Mitchell, finishing with her own customer, leaned across the stall to beam fatly down upon her smallest client. ‘That were a Victoria plum an’ they’s over now till next year,’ she observed. ‘You’re a good little feller, Billy Kelling, so you shall have a pear. A nice William.’
When Kathy arrived home, her mother was in the kitchen. She looked up and smiled as her daughter entered the room. Mrs Kelling bent and picked Billy out of his pushchair, swinging him on to her hip. She kissed his fair curls, asking: ‘Have you had a good day with your sister, then? Well, I’ve got a surprise for the pair of you; I’ve bought a nice big slab of fruit cake from the café and a bottle of cherry Corona so’s we can have a bit of a celebration.’
‘Mam, wharron earth are you doing at home on a weekday?’ Kathy said, ignoring her mother’s remarks. ‘You never get away this early, and why are we celebrating anyhow?’
‘I’ve give in my notice at the café,’ Sarah Kelling said. She sat Billy down in a chair pulled up to the kitchen table, cut him a piece of fruit cake and then poured the bright red fizzy drink into his Bakelite mug. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened, Kathy! I had two answers to me advert in this morning’s post; both of ’em meant to come round to the house this morning since, I suppose, they thought I were always at home and would be able to see them then. You’d gone off before the post were delivered, so I rushed round to the café and told Anita – she’s the most senior of the waitresses – to hold the fort for me. I were lucky though; Mrs McNab, the café owner, popped in to have a word and when I explained the situation she said to take the day off and if the gentlemen took the rooms and I wanted to leave at the end of the week, they would manage. She were really nice, Kathy; she said I’d pulled the place up and she’d give me a first class reference when Billy starts school if there weren’t no place for me in Dorothy’s Tearooms.’
‘Mam! You’re not trying to tell me you’ve got two lodgers already,’ Kathy squeaked. ‘I can’t believe it, after all the time we’ve spent trying to get a lady!’ She pulled up a chair and helped herself to a slice of fruitcake. ‘Who are they – the lodgers, I mean? Are they old? Young? Did they like the rooms? Do they want full board or just breakfast? Oh, Mam, I know you love your job but I were gettin’ so worried that there’d be no one to look after Billy! It’ll be grand to have you home all day.’
Sarah Kelling laughed and shook her head reprovingly at her daughter. ‘What a heap o’ questions! Now where shall I start? Well, one of ’em’s twenty-six – that’s Mr Philpott. He works at the Huskisson Goods Station so Daisy Street is right convenient for him.’
‘And the second feller?’ Kathy said when her mother did not immediately volunteer the information. ‘What’s he like?’
Sarah shot her daughter a look, half laughing, half guilty. ‘You know the second one,’ she said. ‘It’s Sam Bracknell, the feller who came round from the Osterleys’ that time. He got digs all right, but they were on the other side of the city and he said he’s never been happy there. He had to catch two trams to get to his area and there weren’t never no question of nipping back for a meal of an evening, or anything like that. He said he missed the friendliness of the flower streets and his new digs were a big old house, converted into single rooms for unattached gentlemen. There were fourteen of ’em and they shared one kitchen and one bathroom. I felt real sorry for him so he’s coming at the weekend and we’ve agreed on a month’s trial for all parties. That’s Mr Philpott as well,’ she ended.
‘Well – I’m – blessed!’ Kathy said slowly, gazing at her mother with awe. ‘I thought you felt Mr Bracknell was too – too dashing and foreign looking. Me and Jane thought he were the handsomest feller we’d ever come across outside o’ the cinema, but you said something about his being kind o’ dangerous.’
‘Did I say that?’ Sarah Kelling said vaguely. ‘Well, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. He is very handsome in a – a foreign sort of way, but just because a feller’s handsome that doesn’t mean he’s unreliable. Anyway, it’s only for a month. If we don’t care for one another, then both parties will agree to leave and no hard feelings. It were Mr Bracknell’s idea, actually,’ she added. ‘He drew up a sort of contract, just to set me mind at ease.’ She fished in the pockets of her overall and pushed the piece of paper she had produced towards her daughter. ‘Read it; it seems fair enough to me.’
Kathy took the paper and read it. As her mother had said, it was simple, yet the wording made it clear that there was to be a trial period of a month for the Kelling family and their two lodgers. At the end of that time, either party could terminate the agreement, giving a week’s notice.
Having read the paper, Kathy laughed across at her mother, her eyes full of mischief. ‘It’s a grand idea, Mam, but hasn’t it occurred to you that you aren’t the only landlady who has felt a little anxious over having Mr Bracknell as a lodger?’ She tapped the paper with her forefinger. ‘This is all writ down legal like so I’ll be bound he’s done it before when changing lodgings. But even so, it’s a sensible precaution. After you’ve lived in the same house as someone else for a month, it might be difficult to give them notice, might lead to ill feeling, but this way it’s all part of the agreement.’
‘I’m glad you think I’ve done the right thing,’ Mrs Kelling said, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring a spoonful of sugar into it. ‘Mr Philpott and Mr Bracknell will both be arriving on Saturday afternoon so you’ll be able to give them the once over before you start back to school next week. They’ve agreed to pay a week in advance and they’re paying extra for laundry. Apparently, that’s quite common these days. I told them I’d do a hot dinner on a Sunday at midday and an evening meal to be served promptly at half past six on weekdays. Saturdays and Sundays, we’ll just do what you might call high tea, and I’ve told ’em both that I’ll want to know by breakfast time each morning if they mean to be out and miss a meal. No point in wasting good food,’ she added virtuously.
‘Well, I think we’ve been really lucky,’ Kathy remarked, pouring herself some red fizzy drink. ‘I can’t wait to see Jane’s face when I tell her who is going to be lodging at our house, come the weekend!’
At the end of the month, it was already clear that the Kellings were lucky in their lodgers. Mr Philpott was a fair-haired, rather nervous young man, who always thanked the Kellings effusively for any small act of kindness, no matter how trivial. It was soon obvious that his previous digs had not been good ones and his appreciation of Mrs Kelling’s cooking and the comfort of her home seemed almost beyond belief. One Sunday, he accompanied Kathy and Jane to the nearest park, where they meant to take the younger children to play on the swings. He told Kathy then that his parents had died when he was only five and he had been brought up by an aunt who grudged him each moment of her time and every mouthful of food he ate. When he started work, his first landlady had been very little better, taking it for granted that he would be content with small helpings of poor quality food and showing no interest in him as a person. Kathy, looking into his rather watery blue eyes, could not help thinking that Mr Philpott’s own attitude might be partly responsible for the way he had been treated. He was so very apologetic, so keen to merge into the background and to make no trouble, that she supposed a mean and niggardly landlady would begin to take advantage of him as soon as she got to know him. He described his last lodgings, with a Mrs Bryant who lived in Dryden Street in Bootle, and Kathy’s heart bled for him. Apparently, she had had quite a nice house but Mr Philpott had lived in half a partitioned attic room where he had frozen in winter and baked in summer. He was Mrs Bryant’s only lodger – she had a large family – and was always served last at mealtimes, getting only the scraps of food which other members of the family had not taken. That he had stuck with Mrs Bryant for three long years showed, Kathy thought, that he really had no backbone; anyone else would have insisted on their rights since he had paid Mrs Bryant the same money that he was paying the Kellings. According to his own admission, Mr Philpott had accepted this treatment and had only written to Mrs Kelling in desperation because Mrs Bryant had decided she needed his room now that her children were growing up.
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