Rose of Tralee (22 page)

Cracky gave his present customer an especially vigorous twirl, causing the child to shriek with excitement, then raised his brows at her. ‘That one what works at Switzer’s? Aye, I ‘member her. What’s she done?’

‘She’s give our Colm the go-by an’ got him the sack an’ all,’ Caitlin said indignantly. ‘He’s goin’ across the water wit’ me daddy an’ it’s all her fault, so it is.’

‘Wait on. Last push, Jimmy,’ Cracky said, giving the child an almighty heave which caused the rope to swing out almost level with the lamp. ‘I’ve just about finished here. When the lampie comes round he gets in a rare takin’ if I’m still givin’ rides. Us’ll go a walk,
shall us?’

‘Oh yes, then we can talk about doin’ somethin’ to that Nell girl,’ Caitlin said with deplorable viciousness. ‘It’ll break me mammy’s heart, havin’ both me daddy an’ me brother off over the water. I know where she lives an’ who her daddy is, so mebbe, if we t’ink real hard, we can work out some way to mek her sorry.’

‘Aye, we could do that,’ Cracky agreed, shinning up the lamp-post and untying his rope. He wound it over his shoulder and dropped lightly onto the pavement beside her. ‘But that won’t stop your Colm goin’ over the water, will it?’

‘It might, if he got his job back,’ Caitlin argued. ‘We can have a go at the floor walker what give him the sack an’ all. He’s a hateful man, Mammy says as well as Colm.’

‘A floor walker! I reckon we might do somethin’ really good to a floor walker,’ Cracky said.’I niver could stand them stuck-up eejits, it ’ud do the feller good to tek him down a peg or two. Now you tell me all you know about the whole business as we walk an’ we’ll see what we can do.

May 1931 Liverpool

Rose came out of the house in St Domingo’s Vale and brushed under the lilac tree which stooped low over the path, releasing its perfume in a great, heady gust. A year ago today, she reminded herself, we were moving into this house, hoping against hope that we were doing the right thing, worrying that we might have spent Dad’s insurance money unwisely . . . and yet it’s been a good year, the best since he died.

Rose could not look back on that first year after her father’s death without an inward shudder. They had been so unhappy, so bewildered! Jack’s death had been so sudden, so totally unexpected, that neither Rose nor her mother could believe that he had gone, that he would never come whistling into the house again to ask about their day and tell them about his, and this lent a nightmarish unreality, it seemed to Rose, to everything they did.

But oddly, the arranging of the funeral had helped, firstly by taking up a great deal of time and energy, then by involving them with relatives, friends and colleagues, though their first impulse had been to hide away and hug their grief and disbelief. The funeral itself, when it took place, helped even more. Seeing Jack, pale and stern in his coffin, brought home to them as nothing else could have done, that he had really gone, truly left them, and the great
throng of people attending at St Anthony’s church and coming back to the little house in Cornwall Street afterwards, showed how sincerely Jack had been both loved and respected.

In the crush, Rose thought that her mother had not realised that Aunt Daisy was not present, but she was wrong. Lily had noticed and was both astonished and hurt by her sister’s absence, though she whispered to her daughter in a quiet moment that at least her niece Mona had come to her uncle’s funeral. ‘Try to have a word wi’ her, find out why Daisy hasn’t come,’ she hissed, presiding over a barrel of beer, for she had been determined that the wake should not be a miserable, mean affair, and Jack had been well insured. ‘Me own sister ... I can’t for the life of me understand why she should be so cruel.’

So Rose had approached Mona, who was looking very smart in a black coat and skirt with a little black hat tilted over one eye, and the cousins had kissed spontaneously, and Mona had hung on to Rose for several moments. ‘Where’s your mam, Mona?’ Rose asked as soon as she decently could. ‘My mam’s ever so upset she isn’t here. She does know Dad’s gone, I suppose?’

‘I dunno,’ Mona admitted. ‘Look, you’re goin’ to be needin’ more glasses . . . shall us go an’ wash a few up? It’ll be easier to talk.’

So the two girls had made their way into the kitchen, where they found a great many neighbours already tackling the huge pile of dirty crockery and glasses. ‘Come up to me room for a moment,’ Rose hissed. ‘We’ll be alone there,’ So up the stairs the two of them hurried and sat down on Rose’s small bed.

Mona had turned to her immediately. ‘I’m sorry about Uncle Jack,’ she said, and Rose saw her cousin’s
big blue eyes were swimming with tears. ‘He were ever so kind to me when I were a kid. And your mam was good to me an’ all ... it’s only these last few years things have been difficult, but you an’ me’s always been pals, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Ye-es, only you’re a good bit older’n me,’ Rose said guardedly. She had been aware that her parents wanted to keep her away from Mona, though she had no idea why. Indeed, now she supposed it was because Aunty Daisy had not liked her father, though she could not understand why. ‘But Mam and Auntie was always such good pals; then something happened...’

‘Yes, they had a real old fight over something,’ Mona said with some relish. ‘Just like me an’ Mam did, I ’spect. But look, I come up here to explain, then I want to have a word wi’ Aunt Lil, so we’d berra gerra move on. Me mam’s took in a feller, Rosie love, an’ him an’ me don’t see eye to eye. In fact, I moved out a few weeks back, only I don’t like me lodgings much. So you see, I don’t even know if me mam knows Uncle Jack’s dead.’

‘I see,’ Rose said thoughtfully. ‘Well, that’ll cheer Mam up for sure, Mona, ’cos she were mortal upset that her own sister could treat her so bad. But if Aunt Daisy doesn’t know ... Only how couldn’t she? She’d have heard, surely?’

‘She’s moved out of Prince Edwin Lane,’ Mona explained. ‘The feller said no point in keepin’ two houses goin’, so they both moved into his’n, and that’s way out Fazackerley way. You put a notice in the Echo, but if she don’t gerra paper out there ...’

‘You mek Fazackerley sound like the end of the world,’ Rose said, laughing for the first time in what felt like years. ‘I daresay they have newspapers there
just like we do here.’

Mona laughed too. ‘Aye, but I don’t like to think of me mam missin’ Uncle Jack’s funeral on purpose, queen. I’d much rather think she didn’t know what had happened. Any road, that’s what I’ll tell your mam if she asks.’

‘Fair enough,’ Rose said, standing up, ‘We’d better be gettin’ back downstairs or me mam’ll wonder what we’re up to.’

‘Sure,’ Mona said, getting up as well. ‘But wait a sec, Rosie, I want to ask you somethin’.’

‘Fire away, only be quick. Folk is beginnin’ to leave.’

‘Right. Do you think ... is there any chance Aunt Lil might be wantin’ a lodger? Only I’d sooner be far live wi’ you an’ your mam than wi’ strangers, an’ if she’s short of a bob or two I’m in a fairly decent job . . . What d’you think?’

‘You’d have to share my room,’ Rose said, beginning to smile. ‘Did you think o’ that, now? Two of us in the one room, an’ it’s only small. But if you wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t either. Only I don’t think Mam’s got round to wonderin’ where the money’s goin’ to come from yet.’

This proved to be no more than the truth. Later that evening, when everyone had gone, Rose had asked her mother about taking Mona in, but Lily was clearly undecided. The two of them were tidying away the last remnants of the wake and now Lily wrapped half a loaf in paper and popped it into the big, old-fashioned bread-crock which had belonged to Rose’s grandmother. ‘Oh queen, I don’t know. She’s me niece and she told me she’d got a decent job ... I asked her straight out if she hung round Lime Street with them other gals still an’ she swore on the Bible
that she don’t do that no more, but sharin’ a house – and a small one, like this – well, it takes some thinkin’ about. She’s right about money, though, so we’ll have a word wi’ Mr Exeter. He’s dealing with the insurance money, and a pension and that.’

‘I wouldn’t mind sharin’ wi’ our Mona,’ Rose had admitted. ‘She’s all right. But I’ll be leaving school now, Mam. You can’t afford to go on paying fees now.’

‘You’re not leavin’ school unless things are desperate,’ Lily had said firmly. ‘There’ll be money, all right, Mr Exeter said so – mebbe you can go to college after all, queen.’

But of course it had not been possible. She had been forced to leave the convent before Jack’s affairs had been sorted out since ordinary day-to-day expenses soon began to prove more than her mother could manage and school fees were out of the question. It had not helped, either, when her mother’s solicitor, Mr Exeter, had called them in to his office over six months after Jack’s death and told them that Mr Ryder’s savings and insurance money would not be enough to last them for the rest of their lives.

‘You are young and your husband died young, Mrs Ryder, so the money cannot be expected to cover all your expenses for the many years that, I trust, lie ahead of you,’ he had said kindly. ‘Like everything else, however, money can be made to work for you and not simply allowed to lie idle in a bank account. Unless, of course, you intend to start a job of work?’

‘I don’t think I could earn a great deal, Mr Exeter,’ Lily said in a low voice. ‘I was only a shop assistant before ... before we wed, Jack and me.’

‘I see. And your daughter is . . .?’

‘Just fifteen, Mr. Exeter. I’d hoped to finish her
education – it’s what her father would ha’ wanted – but it may not be possible.’

‘I don’t think the sort of wages Miss Ryder could earn would be a great deal of use to you, Mrs Ryder,’ Mr Exeter said. ‘But I don’t want you to dip into your capital, even for school fees; it is most definitely not to be recommended. However, I have a suggestion to make. Have you ever considered taking lodgers, Mrs Ryder? There is sufficient money to pay a deposit on a neat house and set yourself up with the right sort of furniture, bedding ...’

His voice had trailed away under Lily’s doubtful glance. ‘Well, I’m a fair cook, Mr Exeter,’ she said after a short pause. ‘And running a house is something I
do
understand. But there’s no room for a lodger, not unless . . .’

‘I quite understand that your present home would be unsuitable,’ Mr Exeter said quickly. ‘But if you were to put the money into bricks and mortar ...’

‘Buy a
house
?’ Lily squeaked. ‘Or did you mean rent?’

‘I meant buy, with a mortgage, because that way your outgoings would be small and your income sufficiently generous, if you bought a large enough house, to cover your expenses and leave you with a nice little sum every week,’ he said soothingly. ‘The house would be yours when the mortgage was paid off and meanwhile you would be able to complete your daughter’s education, if necessary in evening classes, which would mean that when she did find employment, it would be commensurately more rewarding.’

Lily and Rose both shot him enquiring glances. Rose was glad to see that her mother, too, was puzzled by the expression.

‘If Miss Ryder completes her education then her salary would be larger,’ Mr Exeter said patiently. ‘But perhaps the thought of running a lodging house is repugnant to you?’

‘Νo-oo,’ Lily had said thoughtfully, having given the matter some thought. ‘Tell me more, Mr Exeter.’

So Mr Exeter had told them more and mother and daughter had left his office rather excited and no longer quite so cast down. It had been, Rose remembered now, a summery September day with a brisk, salt-laden wind blowing off the Mersey and the streets crowded with girls in bright cotton dresses and young men in shirtsleeves. She and her mother had gone into a Lyons and had tea, discussing with great excitement what sort of house would suit them, and in which neighbourhoods they should start their search.

It had not been that easy, of course. In fact there had been times, during the following six months, that they had very nearly despaired of ever finding anywhere which they could afford. If they had not insisted on a nice neighbourhood they could have had a fair choice, but Lily was firm on that point; she did not want a good house in a run-down district, because that would not attract the sort of lodgers she needed. As house after house proved to be too small, too large, needing too much money spending, or simply far too expensive, the Ryders’ hope had begun to fade. Rose had left school and had taken an ill-paid job in a small dress shop. It was run by a mean, sharp-tongued woman who believed in getting her moneysworth out of her staff and many a night Rose toiled until ten or eleven o’clock, to return home to drop exhausted into bed, only to be awoken by the alarm clock going off at seven so that she could be
back in the shop by eight-thirty.

And then, out of the blue, Mr Exeter had come round to tell them that he knew of a house for sale on St Domingo Vale which would, he thought, be within their means. ‘Oh, but that’s such a good neighbourhood,’ Lily had said wistfully. ‘We’ll never manage to buy there, Mr Exeter. We’ve gone after property around there before, but it’s always been far to pricey for us.’

‘This one’s different,’ Mr Exeter said. He named the price, which seemed far too reasonable for St Domingo Vale to the Ryders. ‘There’s – there’s a reason for the price being lower than is usually asked, but I’ll leave you to find that out for yourselves. Mrs Ryder, please go and look at the house – and take your daughter with you. I really think it may be the answer.’

So Lily and Rose had set out on Sunday morning, and had taken one look at the house and fallen in love. They had expected to find it badly run down, in desperate need of repair, but though the paintwork was flaking and the gate had a hinge missing, it looked neither run down nor in need of expensive alterations.

As for the small front garden . . .

‘It’s got a tree, and lovely big flower beds, an’ bushes ...’ Lily said. ‘Oh Rosie, I’ve always wanted a garden real bad! An’ it’s so tall an’ – an’ gracious, somehow. I just hope Mr Exeter didn’t get the price muddled in some way.

So they trod up the neatly bricked path, taking in the gleaming windows, the brass knocker on the door and the redded steps. Lily knocked at the door which was answered by a middle-aged woman with black hair parted in the middle and pulled back into a bun
on the nape of her neck. She was dark-eyed and olive-skinned and as soon as she spoke Rose realised she was a foreigner, though her English was excellent. ‘Mrs Ryder?’ she said. ‘I am Mrs Kibble, Mr Exeter told me to expect you. Do come in and I will show you around.’