Rose of Tralee (29 page)

But sitting before her typewriter, fingers just above the keys, as the gramophone ground out ‘
Tea for two
’ and the girls endeavoured to type a page of script to its rhythm, she could not help thinking rather wistfully that Colm O’Neill was just the sort of bloke she would have gone for, had she wanted a boyfriend. But seeing as she did not, as how she wanted a life first, she had better put him out of her mind. And she stared ahead of her and typed in rhythm, and wondered whether Mr Garnett had completely forgotten to come round and visit Gulliver, or whether he had only been teasing and had not meant to visit them at all.

Autumn was almost over before, more by luck than judgement, Lily Ryder got her last lodger. Advertisements had availed her little because, rather belatedly, she had realised that lodgers could not all be trusted.

She herself had been very lucky with the O’Neills and Mr Dawlish, but a woman on Oakfield Road had had one who had flitted, not only owing her money but taking everything portable he could carry with him. ‘An I never suspected a bleedin’ thing,’ she had said indignantly to a friend on the tram, when Lily was seated right behind them. ‘Oh, ’e seemed respec’able enough, ’ad a good job, so ’e claimed, so I never did no checkin’ up. An’ now ’e’s pawned all me
little bits an’ bobs, no doubt, took the cash I kep’ in the brown teapot above the mantel, to say nothin’ o’ other little savin’s what I were keepin’ for me old age, an’ probably gone off to fool some other poor bugger. Oh, if I could lay me ‘ands on ’im ...’

Lily might not agree with the language, but she was totally at one with the sentiments. She grew nervous of any would-be lodger who was not personally recommended, though she had taken both the O’Neills and Pete Dawlish entirely on trust. But I’m a fair judge of character, she told herself consolingly as she worked around the house.
They’re
all right, I’m sure of it. It’s just that I don’t fancy some stranger livin’ in me house.

‘Mr Dawlish was a stranger once and it were only Mona what knew Mr O’Neill,’ Rose pointed out, but it was no use. Lily had realised there were bad people about and she didn’t intend to be landed with any such under her roof. She only had one remaining room, on the first floor, next to Mr Dawlish’s and didn’t want to make a mistake.

Other than that, though, things were going well. Everyone was settling down nicely. The three young people grew used to one another and a good deal of teasing went on, though anyone with half an eye, Lily considered, could see that poor Colm O’Neill was dotty about Mona and that she was merely flirting with him.

Rose, on the other hand, seemed to have no particular preference for anyone and went about her work and play with calmness and apparent indifference. Sometimes her mother though she saw a slight wistfulness in her daughter’s eye when it rested on Colm, but that was surely unlikely? Rose, in her mother’s eyes, was a great deal prettier than
Mona; clearly, if Colm was indifferent to her it was because she had given him no encouragement, whereas Mona played up to him whenever she felt inclined.

Pete Dawlish was a quiet man with a predilection for long country walks. He was off most weekends, walking in Wales, or up in the Peak District, and when he was at home spent a good deal of time planning his next excursion. The Ryders both liked and trusted him, and found Sean O’Neill to be a solid family man who wrote long letters home every weekend and talked about his wife and small daughter non-stop. He did not go out much, but Colm made up for this by spending almost none of the daylight hours in St Domingo Vale. He went dancing, to the cinema or theatre, out with pals to New Brighton or to football matches or dog races. He hung around Mona, it was true, but so far as Lily knew, had never actually asked her out.

And as the autumn days advanced inexorably towards winter, Lily began to feel a little guilty over her sister Daisy. She had taken the child Lily about with her, bought her presents, played with her. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken to her the way I did, the soft-hearted Lily told herself as she scrubbed and polished, cooked and cleaned, in her lovely house. Perhaps she and Mona only fell out because I’d been critical, Lily thought worriedly as she knelt in the autumn garden, taking out the weeds and gathering up the mounds of dead leaves to carry round the back and put into her compost pile. Perhaps she never did hear of Jack’s death – if she never heard it was no wonder she’d not been to the funeral. And worst of all, of course, was the fear that Daisy was really unhappy. She had taken up with a
feller and he had not liked her daughter. Who was to say that he still liked Daisy? Without her daughter’s money coming in and with no feller to support her Daisy could be in deep trouble. So, having thought it over for a number of days, Lily decided to go and visit her sister.

She had to ask Mona where Daisy was living, of course, and Mona, it turned out, did not actually know.

‘She ain’t back at our old place, that I
do
know,’ Mona said, when asked. ‘But I met a neighbour weeks back, an’ she said Mam an’ her new feller had fell out. But I dunno where they went. I never asked.’

So Lily put on her tidy coat and a hat which, she thought privately, made her look like a Welsh coal miner, and sallied forth.

She was successful. ‘She’s nobbut a couple o’ miles away,’ the neighbour said cheerfully. ‘She’s fell on ’er feet, your Daisy. She’s ‘ousekeeper in a ‘Ouse in Rodney Street owned by an old chap what used to ’ave one o’ them posh shops on Lord Street in Southport. Made a mint o’ money be all accounts, an’ retired a year or so back, only when ‘is wife died ’e cou’n’t manage, so ’e put an advert in the
Echo
an’ your Daisy answered it. I met Daisy in Lewis’s, buyin’ a couple o’ dark dresses for best, she said, an’ she telled me what ’ad ’appened an’ where she was now. She were right pleased wi’ ’erself I can tell you.’

‘What happened to the feller what she moved in wi’ after she left here?’ Lily asked. She had not wanted to admit she knew how Daisy had behaved, but things had clearly changed. It was best, she felt vaguely, to go armed, with knowledge at least, into her sister’s possibly enemy camp.

‘Oh, ’im.’ The neighbour sniffed ‘Fly-be-night, that
one. Lef’ her high an’ dry, an’ young Mona gawn an’ almost no money comin’ in. . . . Well, she were lucky to gerra decent job after . . . Still, there you are, it’s a funny ole world.’

Lily said that it was indeed and left, heading for the new address. She knew Rodney Street and made her way there, found the number and, with some trepidation, knocked on the door.

There was quite a long delay, then a small maid came to answer it. She wore a dark dress with a frilled white pinafore over it and when Lily asked for Mrs Daisy Mullins she said that at this time of the afternoon Mrs Mullins would be downstairs, in her basement sitting-room, and would Miss like to follow her?

Lily had followed her, and had been much impressed by the gardens of the house and by the little sitting-room, with a bright fire burning in the grate, everything neat and clean, and knick-knacks on every available surface. The room was lit by electric light and the curtains and the covers on the comfortable-looking chairs were in a pleasant autumn-tinted chintz. It looked like no room the slatternly Daisy had ever owned, but Lily was at once aware that there was an even more amazing change in her sister. Daisy, spotlessly clean in a black dress and shawl, with her hair pulled back into a bun and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles on a chain around her neck, had invited her to take the chair on the opposite side of the hearth and had then hissed at her that she’d got this job by being respectable, and she’d thank her sister to see that no idle rumours got around about her for she, Daisy, had suffered from idle rumours in the past and knew what she was talking about.

It was not a good beginning. Lily, however, had bitten her tongue and said in a placatory tone that she could see things had changed.

‘Aye. They had to, an’ that’s the truth, for never was a woman so mistook in a feller as I was in Rolly Matteson,’ Daisy had said bitterly. ‘When I moved into ’is house he was all charm an’ wi’ a purse full of money, an’ within six months he’d pawned just about everything I owned an’ flitted wi’ the young gal what lived on the corner. I’d been givin’ him me rent money, seein’ as ’ow I’d had to take a bit of a job to make the money go round, an’ he’d not paid over a penny of it, not he! So I were evicted ... on the street, Lil, wi’ not a pal in the world, an’ me own daughter shunnin’ me – to say nothin’ o’ me sister.’

‘You should have come round, Dais, an’ explained,’ Lily said awkwardly. ‘I dare say I’d ha’ let bygones be bygones an’ give you what help I could.’

Daisy snorted. ‘Well, I di’n’t think there were much chance o’ that,’ she said roundly. ‘As for that gal o’ mine . . . least said soonest mended. But I’m awright now, Lil, in fact I’m in the pink. In clover. I get me keep, all me clothes, a couple o’ maids an’ a scrubbin’ woman to do the dirty work, all I have to do is cook, keep house an’ mek sure the ole feller gets wharre wants. I was allus a good cook when I took the trouble, an’ believe me, Lily I tek the trouble now. It’s worth a bit o’ trouble to have a good wage, an’ a nice room of me own an’ no worries.’ She leaned forward and pulled the kettle over the flame, where it began to hiss comfortably. ‘And it’s all me own efforts what ’ave got me where I am today and I won’t ’ave no one messin’ it up. So if you’ve that in mind ...’

‘Why would I want to do that, Dais?’ Lily asked, honestly shocked that her sister could even think
such a thing. ‘But I come round to say as how your Mona’s wi’ us, sharin’ a room wi’ Rosie, so if you ever want to see her . ..?’

‘I can’t think I shall,’ Daisy said, narrowing her eyes. ‘Wharra daughter, when her mam’s in trouble she just turns away! No, I can do very well for meself without no interference from me so-called family.’

‘Mona di’n’t turn away, exactly, Dais. She said your feller turned her out, wouldn’t let her live with you. And ...’

‘Oh, “Mona said, Mona said”,’ Daisy mimicked. ‘I won’t ’ave no one comin’ round ’ere tellin’ a lot o’ lies about me. You di’n’t say you was me sister, did you?’

‘No, is it lies like that you’re afraid of, Daisy?’ Lily said, beginning to feel the first stirrings of real annoyance. ‘Because they’re what other people call truths, you know.’

Daisy reared up in her chair and tightened her lips. Her nostrils flared and her eyes sparked dangerously. ‘Truth, lies, wharra you on about? I won’t ’ave folk spoilin’ wharr I’ve found for meself, that’s wharr I mean; not Mona, nor you, nor anyone else. Well, I’ll mek us a cuppa, then I’ll have to go about me business, gerrin’ the tea for the ole feller, an’ you can mek yourself scarce. I dunno why you come, truth to tell.’

‘I told you I came because Mona’s livin’ with us an’ I thought you oughter know how to gerrin touch wi’ her,’ Lily said in a dangerously quiet voice. ‘As for you doin’ well for yourself, that’s grand, that is. But I’m alone now, since Jack was killed the best part o’ three years ago. I’ s’pose you di’n’t know?’

‘Jack, dead?’ Daisy said, but there was that in her eyes which told Lily that she had known all along, had even, in her spiteful way, not been displeased.
‘Oh well, that means we’re both widders – though I’ve told Mr Clitheroe as I’ve neither kith nor kin of me own, which is another good reason for neither you nor Mona comin’ round ’ere an’ spoilin’ things for me.’ She must have seen the look on her sister’s face for she added in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Not as I’d deny you’re me sister, if it come to the crunch, but I don’t want to be made to look a liar, now do I?’

‘I don’t know why not, since you are one,’ Lily said, taking the cup which Daisy held out and standing it down on a small side table. She got to her feet and Daisy followed suit. ‘Thanks for the tea, but I can’t drink it, Dais, it ‘ud choke me. Well, I won’t tell Mona where you are if you’d rather I didn’t, but if you end up dyin’ in the workhouse, wi’ no one to give an eye to you, you’ll only have yourself to blame.’

Daisy snorted scornfully. ‘Nasty. You’re the one as’ll end in the work’ouse, givin’ a roof to a gal like Mona, what’s no better’n she should be. Oh aye, you warned me about her, now I’m warnin’ you. She’ll batten on you now you’re widdered an’ needin’ her help no doubt, ’cos you allus was a fool, Lily. But me, I’m featherin’ me nest so good I’ll be in clover even after the ole feller pops ’is clogs, I shan’t need no one, don’t you fret. An’ by the same token, don’t think you can come spongin’ off me when things go wrong.’

‘Well, you nasty, spiteful crittur!’ Lily said, throwing caution to the winds. ‘Talkin’ that way about your own daughter, what’s norra bad gal when she’s in decent company. As for spongin’ off of you, it’s allus been the other way about from wharr I can remember.’ She turned on her heel and stalked across the room, heading for the front door once more. ‘I’m off, an’ rare glad to go I tell you!’

Apparently this was more than Daisy could stand,
for she hissed: ‘That’s right, you go, an’ don’t you come round me again, Lily Ryder! You thought yourself better’n me me when your Jack was alive for all he were only a bleedin’ tram driver, but now he’s dead you’re just dirt beneath me feet, not worth botherin’ with! Get out, go on, get out!’

Lily hurried back along the dark corridor, through the green baize doors and across the marble-floored hall. She tugged the big door open and ran out, glad to be in the fresh air once more and about to leave her sister’s spiteful tongue behind her. To her considerable astonishment, however, as she descended the steps Daisy said, behind her: ‘Thank you for callin’, Mrs Ryder, and if I have a place vacant be sure I’ll let your daughter know.’

Lily turned and saw that the maid who had let her in had come hurrying across the hallway and now stood at Daisy’s elbow. Lily filled her lungs and shouted. ‘I dunno who you stole them fancy gold spectacles off of, Daisy Mullins, but it’s clear you aren’t seein’ so good! If you have a place vacant you can stick it up your . . .’

The hastily slamming door, with a last view of Daisy’s suddenly horrified face in the narrowing gap, sent Lily off down Rodney Street in a paroxysm of giggles, but she suddenly realised that tears were running down her cheeks and stopped at a tram stop to collect herself, realising that the encounter had upset her considerably. Just then a tram drew up beside her and Lily hopped aboard, not even stopping to consider whether it went in her direction or not. She took a seat inside, for though it was getting on towards evening it lacked a few minutes to leaving-off time so the vehicle was comparatively empty, and asked the young conductor for a ticket to
the terminus. Better take a hold of myself before I go home, she thought, dabbing her eyes with a small handkerchief and then blowing her nose vigorously, because there’s no point in tellin’ the girls where I’ve been nor what’s been said. And no point in dwellin’ on what that evil Daisy had said about Jack –
just a tram driver
, indeed! But if she went home now, all redeyed and upset, she’d go and spill the beans to someone just to get it off her chest and that would never do.