Stay as Sweet as You Are (34 page)

Bob stood at the end of the table and waited for Kate to pick up her belongings. ‘I dropped yer in it there, I hope yer don’t mind. I just thought it would be a laugh.’

‘So yer think having an affair with me would be a laugh, do yer, Bob Mellor? Well, thanks for the compliment.’

Bob blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Kate. Any man having an affair with you would be a lucky man indeed.’

‘Don’t take it to heart, Bob, I was only pulling yer leg. And it was a laugh. But we’ll never hear the end of it, so be prepared. Peg and Elsie will have a field day with this.’

‘I’ll sort it out with them tomorrow, then they won’t embarrass yer. I should have had more sense, a man of my age.’

‘Will yer stop worrying? Peg and Elsie are not soft, they’ll know it was only a joke. They’ll have a few laughs at our expense then it’ll die a natural death. You mark my words.’

Kate turned off when they reached her section. ‘I’ll see yer tomorrow, Bob.’ Then in a loud voice she called after him, ‘I’ll meet yer at eight, outside the Forum.’

He smiled and waved back. ‘Don’t be late, like yer were on Monday.’

Peg nudged her mate. ‘Yer see, Elsie, I told yer it wasn’t true. They’re just having us on. The trouble with you is, yer’d fall for the bleedin’ cat.’

‘Which cat, queen? I haven’t got no cat.’

Peg rolled her eyes. ‘Why did I pick a friend what’s got nothing between her ears only fresh air?’

When Bob came home from work on the Thursday he went straight into the kitchen to swill his hands and face. ‘I’m going up to the Fletchers’ after I’ve had a cup of tea. I want to get the room prepared for Saturday, so me and George can start hanging the paper.’

Ruby was by the stove, pouring boiling water into the tea pot. ‘You men are bloody fools falling for a hard luck story. Talk about act soft and I’ll buy yer a coalyard, isn’t in it. Olive Fletcher is too lazy to do anything for herself, so she flutters her eyelashes, pretends she’s sick, and has the lot of yer running around after her.’

Bob didn’t answer as he dried his face on the towel. He refused to be drawn into an argument with someone who wouldn’t get off her backside to help anyone. His wife didn’t know anything about the Fletchers and the hard time they’d
had. Even if she did, they’d get no sympathy from her. She didn’t have a compassionate bone in her body.

‘It would do yer more good to decorate yer own house,’ Ruby said. ‘Never mind wasting yer time up there.’

Bob hung the towel back on the nail behind the door. It wasn’t twelve months since he’d papered the living room, but it wouldn’t do any good reminding her. She’d set her mind against the Fletchers, and every other family in the street for that matter, and no amount of persuasion would alter that. ‘I won’t bother with a drink, I’ll have one when I get up there. I’ll be back at half-five for me dinner.’

‘But I’ve made this pot of tea now!’ Ruby followed him into the living room, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. But her mouth closed on the words when she saw him looking down at the
True Confessions
magazine she’d bought that morning. She bought one every week but never cracked on because he’d have a go at her for wasting money when Lucy needed clothes. She usually hid it behind the cushion on her chair but she’d slipped up today.

‘I’m sure yer’ll manage to get through a pot of tea while ye’re reading this tripe.’ Bob saw the price on the top of the magazine and was filled with hopelessness and despair. ‘The cost of that would have bought Lucy a pair of socks.’

Ruby stared him out. ‘I didn’t buy it, smart arse. Me mate called round and lent it to me.’

‘Telling lies is the only thing ye’re good at, Ruby. Oh, and calling everybody fit to burn. I suppose I should feel sorry for yer really, but I can’t. Yer see, where ye’re concerned, I no longer have any feelings whatsoever. You killed them long ago.’ With that, Bob turned on his heels and left the room. He told himself to put it out of his mind; getting upset wouldn’t do him any good. So when he was knocking on Aggie’s door, there was a smile on his face.

‘I’ve come for the paper and paint, Aggie. I know there’s a lot to be done before we can make a start, but seeing as me hands are empty I thought I’d carry it up and get it over with.’

‘Come in, lad.’ Aggie closed the door behind him. ‘Yer can take the paint ’cos they’re big tins and too heavy for me to carry. But yer can’t take the paper or border ’cos it wants trimming. Me and Irene are going to make a start on it tonight, so it’ll be ready when yer need it. Oh, and your Lucy’s going to help. We’re meeting at Irene’s at half-six, when she’s got the dinner out of the way.’

‘A hive of activity, eh, Aggie? I’m glad to have something to do to occupy me mind.’

Aggie studied his face. He was still smiling, but it was an empty smile. And she detected a sadness in his eyes. ‘Glad of a chance to get out of the house, are yer, Bob?’

Bob’s nod came with a sigh. ‘Yes, Aggie, ye’re right. It’s a terrible thing to say, but when Lucy’s not there, there’s nothing in that house for me. I must be the only feller in Liverpool that’s glad to go to work. But as they say, I’ve made me bed and I must lie on it.’

‘Yer shouldn’t have to spend a lifetime in misery, lad, no one deserves that. Perhaps when Lucy’s grown up yer can do something about it. There is such a thing as divorce, yer know.’

‘I’ve thought of everything, Aggie, believe me. But a divorce is complicated and nasty. Ruby wouldn’t consent to it anyway and she’d cause merry hell. I wouldn’t want to put Lucy through that. But in a few years – well, who knows.’

‘Yeah, ye’re right, lad. God works in mysterious ways and none of us knows what’s going to happen in the future. But I’ve got a feeling in me bones that there’ll come a time when you and Lucy are happy and contented.’

‘I hope so, Aggie. Now can yer show me where the paint is and I’ll be on me way to Olive’s and get some work done. George is hoping I’ll have the room ready for papering by Saturday.’

‘They’re on the floor in the kitchen. Yer’ll have to get them yerself, I can’t lift them.’

Bob put the tins down and stared at the bare walls. ‘I wasn’t expecting this, Olive. Steve must have worked like mad to get this stripped.’

‘Ay, Bob Mellor, I helped, yer know. Steve did the top, I did the bottom. The paper was hanging off anyway, so it was easy.’

‘Right, I’ll start rubbing the paintwork down, then. But is there any chance of a cuppa? I work better after I’ve had a drink and a ciggie.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on, but I’ve only got conny-onny. Is that all right?’

‘I was brought up on conny-onny, Olive, it suits me fine.’

Bob started on the door leading to the hall. He was on his knees when Olive came through carrying two cups of piping hot tea. ‘Come and get it. I’ve no saucers, I’m afraid.’

Bob pulled a chair out and sat facing her. ‘Olive, I was brought up in a house with no saucers.’ They were both laughing when there was a knock on the door.

Olive’s hand went to her throat. ‘I wonder who this can be?’

‘It won’t be a bogeyman – they only come when it’s dark.’ Bob laughed and stood up. ‘I’ll answer it.’

Olive sat with her ear cocked. She heard a man’s laughter and her heart lurched. It sounded like Titch, but it couldn’t be. He’d be on the high seas by now. ‘Who is it, Bob?’

‘I was wrong, it
is
a bogeyman. I’ll let him in though, ’cos he looks harmless enough.’

Olive’s eyes were on the door when Titch walked in. ‘In the name of heaven, am I seeing things or is it a ghost?’

‘The ship developed engine trouble and we had to turn back. It’s in for repairs now, and they could take a few days. So ye’re honoured with my company again.’ Titch eyed the two cups. ‘What are yer doing, Olive Fletcher, entertaining a strange man the minute me back’s turned? A married man at that.’

‘He’s only been here about five minutes.’

‘I know how long he’s been here, ’cos I went home first and me ma told me. Anyway, where’s my cup of tea?’

Bob chuckled. ‘Only conny-onny, Titch, and no saucer.’

‘Just the way I like it. And you can pour it out, Bob, while I fill Olive’s heart with happiness by telling her I’ll probably be home long enough to see this room decorated.’

‘Yer’ll be getting stuck in, mate, like the rest of us,’ Bob told him. ‘With everyone working flat out, it should be finished on Saturday.’

Titch grinned. ‘In time for the pub opening, I hope.’

Bob and Titch worked like Trojans, and by half-past five all the paintwork had been rubbed down. ‘That’s a good job done,’ Titch said. ‘But with the best will in the world I don’t see how we can get the room finished on Saturday.’

‘It can be done.’ Bob was more optimistic. ‘If Olive will wash the paintwork down while we nip home for our dinner, we can start putting the undercoat on when we come back. I’ll bring a brush and the two of us can get cracking. We should get it finished tonight, then the gloss can go on tomorrow.’

Olive looked uneasy. ‘I don’t want to stop Titch going for his pint.’

‘Yeah, that’s an important point,’ Titch said, pursing his lips as his head wagged from side to side. ‘A whole day without a pint doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Yer could keep telling yerself it’s Sunday,’ Bob said. ‘And all the pubs are shut.’

‘I’ve got a better idea. Every time I get a pang, I’ll look at Olive and remind meself that even a pint of bitter with a frothy head on isn’t as pretty as she is.’

‘Will yer go home for yer dinner and stop embarrassing me.’ Olive could feel herself blushing. ‘Our Steve will be in soon and he’ll want something to eat before he gives me a hand washing the paintwork.’

‘Aren’t some people ungrateful, Bob?’ Titch slipped his arms into his reefer jacket. ‘I sabotaged the engine for this
woman, and that’s the thanks I get.’

Olive pointed to the door. ‘Will yer go now, the pair of yer?’

Bob chuckled as he grabbed Titch’s arm and pulled him into the hall. ‘We’ll be back in an hour, Olive.’

As soon as she heard the door close after them, Olive bustled out to the kitchen where the mince and onions were simmering gently and the potatoes were ready for mashing. She turned the gas off but left the pan lids on to keep the food warm. An hour wasn’t very long to eat a dinner, wash the dishes and then start cleaning the paintwork. But she was determined to do as much as she could. God knows, everybody was doing all they could to help her, the least she could do was pull her weight.

The sound of the key in the door had her reaching for two plates. ‘Hurry up, son, we’ll be having visitors soon.’

Steve gave her a hug and a kiss. ‘Who’s coming?’

‘Mr Mellor and Mr Titch.’

‘Mr Titch!’ The lad’s voice was high with surprise. ‘Is Mr Titch home?’

Olive nodded as she spooned potato on to the plates. ‘The ship developed engine trouble and had to turn back. He reckons he’ll be home for a few days. Him and Bob have been here all afternoon, rubbing down. They asked if we’d make everywhere clean so they can start on the undercoating tonight.’

Steve took a plate from her and sniffed up. ‘It smells good, Mam.’

‘Yeah, thanks to Mrs Aggie. She brought the mince down early on and I only had to heat it up. But we’ll have to wolf it down, son, ’cos they’ll be here before we know it.’

The men were a quarter of an hour late, for which Olive was thankful. The extra minutes gave her time to wash up after their dinner and then really get stuck into the woodwork. She started one side of the room, her son the other.

Steve sneaked a look at his mother as she stretched up to
reach the top of the door. Just a few short months ago, she wouldn’t have had the energy to do that. Even washing the dishes would have tired her out. So she really must be getting better. His spirits lifted, he went back to washing the windowframe with renewed vigour.

When the knock came, Olive said, ‘This’ll be them. Open the door, love.’ She stood with the wet cloth in her hand and listened as her son welcomed his hero. But she was proud to hear Bob get as warm a welcome. She waited for the two men to enter, then said, with mock severity, ‘You are late.’

‘It’s his fault,’ Bob said, nodding at Titch. ‘I called for him on time.’

‘And I’d have been ready if it hadn’t been for me ma. We had fish for tea, and didn’t I go and swallow a bone this size.’ He held his hands about two foot apart. ‘I’m not kidding, I nearly choked to death.’

Steve, never happier than when he was in this man’s company, chuckled. ‘And the bone was really that big, Mr Titch? It must have been some fish.’

‘I told me ma it must have been a whale, but she would have it that it was a piece of cod. And this’ll tell yer how serious it was. When I was choking to death, instead of hitting me on the back to dislodge the thing, me ma was searching the sideboard drawer for the insurance policy.’

‘Titch McBride, yer can’t half tell some whoppers,’ Olive said, shaking with laughter. ‘And yer have to drag poor Aggie into it.’

‘“Poor Aggie”, did yer say? If that bone had finished me off, it would have been “rich Aggie”. Mind you, she did say she was pleased when I coughed the thing up. And I know she meant it ’cos there were tears in her eyes.’

‘I thought yer were having mince and onions for yer dinner.’

‘Yeah, we did. But I had to have some excuse for being late and I couldn’t very well say I’d choked on a bit of
mincemeat. I mean, yer wouldn’t have believed that, would yer?’

‘No, not really,’ Olive said, her face deadpan. ‘The two-foot bone was far more believable.’

‘We came to work, mate,’ Bob reminded him. ‘Or had yer forgot?’

And work they did. Stopping only once for a cuppa and a smoke. And by half-past ten, all the woodwork had been undercoated. Titch was as pleased as Punch. ‘Not bad going, eh, mate?’

Bob nodded, satisfied they’d achieved their goal. ‘Ruddy good going, mate.’

‘It’s brilliant,’ Steve said. ‘Yer’ve done wonders.’

‘The room looks brighter already.’ Olive was tired, but it was a nice tiredness. ‘I didn’t realise how horrible that brown paintwork was.’

‘Wait until the room’s finished, love, yer won’t know yerself.’ Titch was glad he’d be here to see her face. ‘We’ll make tracks now ’cos Bob’s on early shift. But I’ll make a start on the gloss paint in the morning and should have it in hand by the time he gets home from work. Would nine o’clock be too early for yer?’