The Mill Girls of Albion Lane (10 page)

‘No, this time it was Father and Margie.'

‘Was it very bad?' was Evie's hurried, anxious reaction.

‘Yes, I'm afraid it was.' Though Lily could justify keeping Arthur in the dark, she decided it wasn't fair to beat about the bush any longer with Evie. ‘I have to tell you something and you're not going to like it,' she began quietly as she drew the curtains, lit the gas mantle and sat her down at the table.

Evie pulled her long plait forward over one shoulder and began to loosen it from its ribbon, a frown creasing her smooth brow.

‘Margie's lost her job at Kingsley's,' Lily went on.

Evie's frown deepened. ‘But she'll soon find another?' she ventured.

If only it were that easy, Lily thought. ‘She'll have to start looking on Monday but with things being the way they are it might take a while,' she cautioned. ‘Meanwhile, Mother will have to rely on two wages coming into the house instead of three. We'll have to tighten our belts for a while.'

Evie shook her hair loose then nodded eagerly. ‘I've already told Peggy I won't be going out tonight, so that's a start.'

‘That seems a shame.' Lily felt sad that Evie couldn't enjoy splashing out a little of her first week's wages on a night out.

‘It doesn't bother me. I feel fit to drop.' Evie sighed. ‘And now I'm glad I won't be wasting the money.'

Sitting across the table from her, Lily leaned over and squeezed her sister's hand. ‘But remember that things are bound to get better, with or without Margie's wage. My money is set to go up just as soon as I've passed muster in the mending department.'

Hearing noises from the room above, the sisters stopped talking while their father coughed and then fell silent.

‘How did Mother take the news?' Evie wanted to know when they convinced themselves that Walter had gone back to sleep.

‘Badly,' Lily whispered back, scarcely louder than the faint hiss of the gas light. Then she drew a sudden, sharp breath at the memory of Rhoda's silence and frozen expression. ‘She didn't stand up for Margie because she feels so let down. She let her pack her bag and leave.'

‘What do you mean, “leave”?'

‘Leave home.' The two short words fell like pebbles into a deep pool, causing ripples that seemed to be reflected in Evie's sensitive features.

‘That can't be right,' she murmured. ‘Where did she go?'

‘We don't know. But she'll send word as soon as she's found somewhere to stay, with Granddad more likely than not, don't you worry.'

‘And will Mother come round? Will she let Margie back into the house?'

‘Not for a good while.' Again Lily chose not to sugar-coat the pill. ‘Things have been bad between Mother and Margie lately – I don't need to tell you that.'

‘But it shouldn't come to this,' Evie protested. The sensation of family ties being stretched to breaking point affected her very badly and made her feel wearier than ever.

Lily sighed then went on. ‘My feeling is that Mother is worn out. She hasn't the strength to deal with Margie playing up and causing problems and that's why I promised to help keep Margie on the straight and narrow in the first place.' For the first time since her sister's dramatic exit, Lily was stricken with guilt. Her shoulders slumped and she was glad when Evie came to sit beside her. ‘I should've told Margie straight out – it's time to stop complaining and knuckle under because Mother's tired out with your silly goings-on. Only I didn't, and Margie ran headlong into a fight over nothing with Dorothy Brumfitt and quite rightly Sam Earby handed both of them their cards.'

‘It's still not your fault,' Evie insisted, gently pushing Lily's hair back from her face. ‘Margie's the selfish one, not you.'

‘Yes, but I should've made her see how much Mother relies on her money and how hard it is to hang on to a job these days. I didn't do that, Evie, and now I'm sorry.'

‘So is Margie, I'm sure.'

‘Let's hope you're right.' Lily looked up and managed to smile.

She hoped that Margie would look back on events and tell their mother how sorry she was. She hoped that she would find work quickly. She hoped that Evie would grow stronger and get used to her work in the weaving shed. She hoped that she would succeed under Miss Valentine's supervision. She wished for many things, but as she went to the window and looked out through a chink in the curtains at clouds drifting across the face of a full moon, she didn't wholly believe that any of those wishes would come true.

‘What's your Margie doing at Granddad Preston's house?' Annie came knocking on the door of 5 Albion Lane late on Sunday afternoon, exactly twenty-four hours after Margie's sudden departure. Her coat was buttoned up and she wore a blue woollen scarf tied around her head, turban-style. ‘Is it to do with the fight between her and Dorothy?'

‘Keep your voice down.' Lily stepped out on to the top step and quickly closed the door behind her, afraid that her mother would react badly to the tittle-tattle. ‘We don't want the whole world to know.'

‘Too late – the cat's out of the bag,' Annie insisted. ‘Sybil and me, we were out last night without you and it was the talk of the town, how Margie and Dorothy had a set-to at work. I don't know who started it, but from what I heard, there was yarn everywhere. Dorothy was chucking cones at Margie, who gave as good as she got. It was Bedlam, by all accounts.'

Lily winced. ‘Mother will hate that people are gossiping. But you're sure that Margie is with Granddad at Ada Street?'

Annie nodded. ‘Flora Johnson went to chapel up there early this morning. She saw Margie standing at the window of number ten, staring out. Flora waved but Margie didn't wave back.'

‘Well, it's a relief to know where she is.' For Lily, having the short conversation with Annie made recent events seem more real – Margie had run away but she was safe and well. After a sleepless night and a miserable day, Lily could begin to relax.

Taking a closer look at her friend's strained expression, Annie linked arms with her and walked her a short way down the street, avoiding puddles and a stray paper bag that flapped against the kerb. ‘Anyway, try not to worry too much. Margie will have to let a bit of time go by and then eat humble pie. She'll be back home before you know it.'

‘I hope you're right.'

‘Of course I am. It seems bad at present but it'll soon blow over – you know what they say: today's newspaper is the wrapping for tomorrow's fish and chips.'

‘Do they?' Lily gave a faint smile and thanked Annie.

‘What for? I haven't done anything.'

‘Yes you have – you've brought us news that Margie is safe and you've done your best to cheer me up.'

‘But I haven't though, have I?' Annie's normally cheerful face looked concerned as she turned Lily back towards number 5. ‘Listen, Lily, you're catching your death of cold and I have to run. But remember, if there's anything I can do, you only have to ask.'

‘Just carry on keeping an eye on Evie for me.'

‘It's a promise.' Annie nodded. ‘Go inside, Lil, before you catch your death.'

‘Righty-ho.'

‘And wait a day or two for things to settle down.'

‘I will.' With her hand on the door knob, Lily ran through the possible courses of action that were open to her then came to a firm decision. ‘When the time's right I'll take the tram up to Overcliffe to see Margie. Maybe on Wednesday, after I've finished my shift.'

‘What did Annie want?' Rhoda asked when Lily went back into the house. She stood peeling potatoes at the sink, her face strained, wisps of grey hair falling forward on to her forehead.

Evie stood at the table with Arthur, showing him how to crack eggs into a bowl of flour then add milk and a pinch of salt. Then she handed him a whisk to mix batter for Yorkshire puddings.

‘I was right – Margie's gone to stay with Granddad,' Lily told them.

‘Oh, thank goodness.' Evie sighed, raising a floury hand to cover her mouth.

Lily waited in vain for a reaction from Rhoda. ‘Did you hear me, Mother? Margie's at Granddad's house.'

‘Yes, I heard.' Peeling and chopping then transferring the potatoes into a pan of water, Rhoda refused to stop what she was doing.

‘Has she come back from the seaside?' a doubtful Arthur asked Evie, who smiled down at him and nodded.

‘It gives us all a bit of breathing space,' Lily said.

‘Lift this pan on to the hob for me,' Rhoda told her, standing back to let Lily perform the task. Her face looked tired, her eyes cold and blank.

‘Mother, I'm sure Margie is sorry as can be for losing her job,' said Lily, ever the peacemaker.

‘Sorry doesn't bring in a wage packet,' Rhoda said stubbornly.

‘But she's learned her lesson.'

Rhoda ran the tap and swilled off her hands. ‘Aye, the hard way.'

‘And can't you forgive and forget?' The moment the question was out of her mouth, Lily realized it had been the wrong thing to say.

‘Forgive?' Rhoda said in a tone of disgust. It was as if a dam had broken and a torrent had been released. ‘Do I forgive Margie for making me a laughing stock? Do I forgive her for throwing a perfectly good job down the drain? What do you think?'

Lily shook her head.

‘No – you're right, I don't. Do I agree with her running to her granddad's house and telling tales against your father?'

‘Mother, I'm sure she hasn't—'

‘And I'm sure she has.' With a trembling lip, Rhoda tore off her apron and flung it down on the table. ‘And I'm certain of one other thing – we haven't got to the bottom of this. No, don't interrupt me, Lily. Margie hasn't told us the full story. She's hiding something even worse.'

‘What?' Lily cried, afraid of the venom in her mother's voice and alarmed by the hectic red spots that had appeared on her cheeks.

Rhoda had to lean on the table and draw breath. ‘Just stop and think about it,' she said in a voice somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

What did her mother mean? For a while Lily couldn't see what could be worse than losing a job and throwing your family further down into poverty. Then it came to her – the memory of Rhoda insisting there was a boy involved in the argument between Margie and Dorothy. Lily's mind spun off in a direction she didn't want to go and she shook her head violently.

‘Now do you see what I'm getting at?' Rhoda asked, the mask of indifference suddenly descending over her worn face again as she turned back to the sink.

It was true – Lily recalled how Margie had clasped the suitcase like a shield, defending herself, keeping her secret. The memory of it sent a shudder down her spine. ‘But, Mother, you don't know. You can't be certain.' She whispered the protests without believing them.

‘I know the signs,' her mother said, cold and hard. ‘I've seen it often enough, believe you me.'

In the event, an overwrought Lily didn't wait until Wednesday to take the tram up to Overcliffe. Instead, she hurried there straight after work on Monday, her mind fixed on everyday affairs such as searching in her purse for the right money to pay the fare and dreading the moment when she must alight from the tram then walk down Ada Street to Granddad Preston's green door. She arrived still in a state of high anxiety and was about to raise her hand and knock when the door was flung open.

‘Come in, I was expecting you,' Bert said, his voice thick with phlegm. ‘I knew it would be you, not your mother. Margie's upstairs in the spare bedroom.'

‘Has she said anything to you?' Lily asked in a low, anxious voice, as they hovered in the narrow hallway. She stood beneath a picture called
The Light of the World
, which had been hanging there for as long as she could remember – a black-and-white engraving of Jesus in his long robe, his crowned head surrounded by a halo and his raised hand holding up a lantern to show the way to benighted souls.

‘No, but then again I haven't asked,' Bert replied with a steady look that told Lily that he preferred not to know awkward truths about the goings-on of the modern world. Once a tall, strong man, the years of hauling coal from the mine out at Welby had stooped his shoulders and curved his spine so that now he wasn't much taller than Lily, and it was as if the coal dust had worked its way under his skin into the deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

So Lily climbed the bare stairs, her light footsteps warning Margie that she was on her way, her heart beating fast as she thought of the conversation she must have. She opened the door into the cold back room with its iron bedstead, its bedside table with the clover-patterned ewer and basin, the faded quilt – everything the same as always except for the one vital difference that Lily had come to talk about.

‘Go away, Lily.' Margie's hostile greeting came from the window overlooking a small back yard with shared brick privy and ash pit. A clear sky allowed a full moon to shine its silver light into the room.

‘There's a fine thing,' Lily teased, taking off her hat and putting it on the bed. She'd decided to aim for a cheerful tone but even to her it rang false. ‘I've come all this way straight after work and that's all the greeting I get.'

‘I never asked you to come,' Margie said flatly without turning away from the window.

‘It's dark in here. Shall I sort that out?' An old-fashioned oil lamp was the only lighting in the room, as if time had stopped for Bert Preston thirty years earlier, before the advent of gas and electricity.

‘Please yourself.' There was a long pause before Margie spoke again. ‘How did you guess I was here?'

‘Annie told me. Her friend Flora Johnson spotted you.'

‘And did Mother send you?' Margie's outline against the moonlight made her look small and young, almost childlike, and her question had a yearning quality that she soon repressed. ‘No, don't answer that. I already know this was your idea.'