A Sister's Duty Page 12

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Rosie quickly. ‘Although I suppose I shouldn’t accept it. He’s almost a stranger. But I’d be daft not to, wouldn’t I, the way rationing is?’

  Gwen agreed. ‘Make the most of it while you can, lovey. With the war in Europe over, the Yanks’ll be moving out of Burtonwood. You count your blessings. There’s thousands who’d like to be in your shoes. And this is nicely timed. I suppose there’s a party out where you are?’

  ‘Mmmm. I’ve heard talk of a party tomorrow and the decorations are going up.’ Rosie took a tin of salmon and one of peaches out of the box. ‘I’d like you to have these, Mrs Baxendale. You’ve been good to us.’

  The woman’s face lit up. ‘Now that’s kind of you. They’re a real treat. And if you have any time later, why don’t you call in on us this evening? You’ll know everybody – except the ones that have moved into your house. Our Davey’ll be pleased to see you.’

  ‘I’ll probably hang around Gran’s this evening but I’ll come if I can.’ Rosie wished Davey’s mother would stop making out he had his eye on her. ‘I hope you have a nice day.’

  ‘Well, it’ll be a testing time.’ Mrs Baxendale took the Union Jack from her shoulder, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I wasn’t going to put this up but our Davey said Frank gave his life for the peace and he deserves to have a flag flown in his memory.’

  Rosie agreed, thanked her old neighbour again and hurried away. She found her grandmother sitting in an armchair on the front step, watching a couple of lads making an effigy of Hitler. ‘You’re making a right hash of that,’ grumbled the old woman. ‘In my day we knew how to stuff a Guy.’

  ‘There on the first Guy Fawkes Night, were yer, Granny?’ said one of the lads.

  ‘Don’t you give me any old lip or I’ll box yer ears for yer,’ she growled.

  ‘You and whose army?’ he retorted.

  ‘I’ll do it on me own with one hand tied behind me back,’ said Maggie, bristling, half rising from her seat.

  ‘Hello, Gran. Remember me?’ Rosie placed the box on the step.

  The old woman sank back into her chair and eyed her granddaughter up and down. The youths wolf-whistled and Rosie did a twirl, pleased that the time she had put into her appearance was paying dividends. From the garments which had been her mother’s, Amelia had given her several. The frock Rosie was wearing was scarlet with white piping round the neckline and hem. It was also short on her so showed a good expanse of shapely leg.

  Maggie sniffed. ‘Haven’t gone gaga yet, girl. Warra yer doing here?’

  ‘Came to see you, Gran. Thought I might take you up on your offer,’ she said boldly.

  ‘And what offer would that be? Refresh me memory, girl.’

  ‘The one to come and live with you?’

  ‘Oh, that one!’ Maggie’s eyes narrowed and she thrust her head forward like a snake about to strike. ‘And why should yer think I’d want yer when I haven’t seen yous for love nor money in months?’

  Instinctively, Rosie went on the defensive and what better way than to blame the woman whom she knew Maggie disliked? ‘It hasn’t been easy for me to get away. Aunt Amelia keeps my nose to the grindstone. I’ve been working in her shop most Saturdays, and when I wasn’t doing that I was looking after the others and cleaning her house for her.’

  Maggie cackled and rocked herself. ‘Not spoiling yous then? At least she shows some sense. But why should yer think life would be any different living with me? I’d expect yous to work too. Can’t keep yous for nowt.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ said Rosie, perching on the cardboard box. ‘I’d leave school straight away and get myself a job, help you in the house and everything. But I thought most of all you wanted somebody who was family living with you?’

  ‘Hmmmph!’ Maggie’s expression was cynical. ‘D’yer think I was born yesterday? There’s more to it than that. But yer can tell me later. Help me up now and let’s go into the house.’

  Rosie heaved her grandmother out of the chair. Maggie prodded the cardboard box with her stick. ‘And what’s this? All yer worldly goods? Cast yous off, has she? Been misbehaving have yer, girl? Cos I tell yer now, I don’t want any disgrace brought to my door!’

  Rosie looked shocked as indeed she was. ‘Give me credit for some sense, Gran. It’s food. I thought you might need some luxuries.’

  The old woman’s mouth fell open. ‘Now yous have surprised me. It’s the sort of thing my Joey would do.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘Well, he was my dad. Is it that surprising I should be a little bit like him?’

  Maggie stroked her chin, where several hairs sprouted from a wart, looking thoughtful. Then she seemed to come to a decision and signalled the girl to bring the box inside.

  Rosie was about to get a grip on it when one of the lads lifted it. ‘I’ll carry it in for yer, luv. And how’s about a date?’

  ‘Don’t yous be talking like that,’ said Maggie belligerently, whacking him on the back of one knee with her stick. His leg gave way and he nearly fell. Rosie just managed to save the box from crashing to the ground.

  ‘Sorry,’ she murmured.

  He did not look at her but beat a hasty retreat.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ said Rosie, frowning at Maggie. ‘He was only trying to be helpful.’

  ‘Helpful my foot,’ she growled. ‘When yous been alive as long as I have, girl, yer learn who yers can trust. He’d be casting an eye over what I’ve got. Now in with yous.’

  They went inside. Maggie lowered her bulk into a chair in front of a grate much in need of blackleading. ‘Let’s get me breath back,’ she gasped.

  Rosie placed the box on the table, glancing round and seeing no sign of all the money her grandmother was supposed to have. ‘It’s not so different from our old house,’ she said, unable to disguise her disappointment.

  ‘What did yers expect?’ Maggie’s bushy eyebrows met angrily. ‘Gold plate and Persian carpets?’

  Rosie could not help smiling.

  ‘Take that smirk off yer face! Think I couldn’t afford such things, hey?’

  ‘To be honest, Gran – no. But that doesn’t mean to say there’s anything wrong with this room, and I loved our old house. It was home.’

  ‘And home is where the heart is, eh?’ said Maggie, surprising her again. She hoisted herself up unaided. ‘Come through and I’ll show you something. Give us yer arm.’

  Rosie helped her and they walked slowly across the kitchen and out through the other door. The girl stared at the sight that met her eyes. Here was a counter with scales and weights, knives and a cutting block, sheets of greaseproof paper and paper bags – as well as a biscuit tin with CASH written on it. On shelves there were loads of tins, packets and jars; on the floor blocks of salt, packets of soda, soap and bottles of disinfectant.

  ‘It’s a shop!’ said Rosie.

  ‘That’s right, girl.’ Maggie rested one hand on the counter where a well-thumbed ledger hung by a length of string from a nail. ‘When me rheumatism got real chronic, the doctor said I had to quit the streets, but I couldn’t just sit back and twiddle me thumbs.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it be better at the front of the house?’

  ‘Them that needs to know knows!’ Maggie tapped her nose before ushering Rosie back into the kitchen. ‘Now how’s about a spot of something to eat? There’s a quart of brawn in that there ’fridgerator and some leftover bubble and squeak yer can heat up in the frying pan.’ Rosie hesitated. ‘Well, jump to it, girl! I’m not going to be carrying yous around.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to, Gran, but the fire’s not lit.’

  ‘There’s a two-ring thingymebob in that cupboard.’ She pointed her swollen, twisted hand. ‘Yous sticks it on the gas outlet and Bob’s your uncle. I couldn’t be doing with lighting fires all the time once Emily went.’

  Soon Rosie was setting in front of Maggie a plate of crispy potato and cabbage with slices of melting brawn on top. The old woman rubbed her hands together and sm
acked her lips. ‘It looks good. Not that yous can go much wrong with bubble and squeak.’

  Rosie agreed, fetching her own plate and sitting down at the table. After they had taken the edge off their hunger, Maggie said, ‘And now I’ll ask a question of yer, Rosie girl. Have yous any idea why my shop’s at the back of the house?’

  She remembered a time when Violet had taken her to a yard where a large van had been parked. In a room to the rear of the house, frocks, skirts and coats had hung from curtain rails while shelves were packed with other garments. Rosie had tried on several frocks before her mother signed a piece of paper before coming away with the one she had chosen. It was not until later Rosie realised why they had gone in the back way. ‘You allow people to buy on tick,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Clever girl!’ Her grandmother looked approving. ‘Some people see shame in it and that’s why they comes up the back jigger. But there’s lots of folk who go through hard times, and if there weren’t people like me around to help them, they’d be in a worse state.’

  ‘But isn’t it wrong to encourage people to get into debt?’ said Rosie mildly.

  ‘No need to look at me like that, girl.’ Maggie’s tone was disapproving. ‘I makes sure they pays me something regular and don’t get in over their heads.’

  ‘But you must charge interest?’

  ‘Can’t be doing with working out percentages,’ mumbled the old woman. ‘A farthin’ here, a ha’penny there. It’s always up front on the goods so there’s no unpleasant surprises. They knows exactly how much they owes and I’m satisfied with what I makes. As me old mother said, “Look after the pennies and the pounds’ll take care of themselves.” That’s the way money grows. I’ve been bit once or twice but I’m not a bad judge of character.’

  ‘You don’t look like you’ve got money,’ said Rosie frankly.

  Maggie stared at her unblinking. ‘I’ve got enough to see me out. Now polish off that food and take that look off yer face. I’m no Scrooge nor Shylock. Tell me instead how me lad met his fate? In the Forces, was he?’

  Rosie told the tale of how Joe had been crushed by a lorryload of scrap metal. Maggie shook her head and wiped away tears but recovered quickly, asking the girl what treats were in the box.

  ‘In a moment, Gran. Now you tell me a bit about me dad when he was young. And how about his dad? Dad only told me he was lost at sea.’

  ‘Lost at sea?’ Maggie smiled grimly. ‘I only told him that tale because I didn’t want him upset. Walked out on me, did Walt. Men! You can’t always trust them, girl. Now how about seeing what’s in this here box?’

  Feeling stunned by this news, Rosie’s mind was elsewhere as she did as she was told. So her granddad hadn’t been killed at sea! ‘Where is he now?’ she demanded.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My granddad?’

  There was a short silence before Maggie, not looking up, grunted, ‘How the hell should I know? Did yers pay for all this, girl?’

  Disappointed, she said absently, ‘Do me a favour, Gran. I earn a pittance working in Aunt Amelia’s shop on a Saturday. No, this was a present.’

  Maggie chewed on her gums. ‘I hope yous isn’t carrying on with the Yanks?’

  ‘Of course not, Gran!’ Rosie did not even consider telling her the truth, guessing the old woman would only pull Violet’s character to shreds. ‘It’s from a friend.’

  ‘Nice friends yous have! In the black market, are they?’

  Rosie raised her eyebrows as if in horror but was silent. Let her grandmother think what she liked. Rosie suspected from a couple of things she had noticed under the counter in the shop that Maggie had dealings with them herself.

  Her grandmother nodded her head slowly, a smile on her wrinkled face. ‘I bet that aunt of yours finds you a handful.’

  ‘We have our differences,’ said Rosie, lacing her fingers and twiddling her thumbs.

  ‘What kind of differences? It wasn’t fellas, was it? Cos I tell yers now, I won’t have them hanging around yer like wasps round a jam pot.’

  ‘It wasn’t fellas, Gran. If you want to know—’ She hesitated, wondering just how much to tell her. ‘Aunt Amelia’s getting married and he’s got three lads of his own.’

  ‘Well, well, well. Who’d have thought it?’ mumbled Maggie, forking the last of the food into her mouth. ‘What about yer sisters and brother?’

  ‘Gone. She’s got rid of them all. Dotty to the blind school and—’ Rosie swallowed, ‘Harry and Babs have been sent to Canada, to Aunt Iris. I tell you, Gran, I could have killed Aunt Amelia when I found out! But there’s nothing I can do at the moment except get myself a job and save some money. But if you could put up Dotty as well, so we could be together, that’d be marvellous.’

  ‘Why?’ said Maggie, dropping the fork and pulling her shawl more securely about her shoulders. ‘I don’t want her and that’s the truth. What use would she be to me?’

  ‘But she hates it at school, Gran!’

  ‘She’d probably hate it here. She’s better off where she is. They’ll teach her to look after herself. So forget her, girl, if yous want to come and live here with me.’

  For a moment, Rosie did not know what to do, could only think, Poor Dotty! Nobody wants her.

  ‘Take it or leave it, girl,’ muttered Maggie, hand shaking as she poured herself another cup of tea. ‘Yous don’t have to make up yer mind straight away. There’s the street party. We’ll go to that and yer can tell me what yous have decided later.’

  With that Rosie had to be satisfied, but she felt uncomfortably as if she would be deserting her sister if she came and lived with her grandmother. On the other hand, if she did not then she would have to do what she was even more loath to do and continue living under Amelia’s regime, sharing a house with the terrible twins. If only she had some money, she would quit Liverpool and head for Canada, taking Dotty with her so the Kilshaws could be reunited once more. But she didn’t. So what was she to do? It needed some thinking about and attending the street party would give her time to do just that.

  Rosie marvelled at how much food there was, aware of mothers and grandmothers hovering, making sure their offspring got their fair share. Children were already seated round well-spread tables drawn up in a long line down the centre of the street. Plates were piled high with sandwiches and homemade cakes. There were bowls of jelly and blancmange, jugs of soft drinks made from watered-down orange juice and lemonade powder. Rosie thought of Harry and sadness and resentment dragged her spirits down. It wasn’t fair! She had to get to Canada somehow.

  An upright piano was brought out, and a bald man with a drooping moustache struck the keys, launching into ‘Run, Rabbit, Run’. Crates of brown ale made their appearance and Maggie told Rosie to move her armchair closer to the piano. The next moment the old woman was supping brown ale and conducting the music with a sandwich in her other hand. Rosie watched and listened as everyone began to sing along, faces flushed and happy. Finally, she resisted no longer but joined in.

  The effigy of Hitler was hoisted aloft and the bonfire lit. Wood crackled, sending sparks flying into the sky, to the cheers of children. Some capered around daringly close to the flames. Women gossiped or admired sleeping babies. More than one middle-aged man reminisced about the last war. There was lots of laughter and couples began to dance. Homemade peppermint lumps made the rounds as did more bottles of brown ale.

  ‘Wanna cut a rug?’ drawled a familiar voice in an assumed American accent, causing Rosie almost to drop her cup of lemonade. ‘Unless, that is, you’re ashamed to be seen with me in your glad rags?’

  She turned and looked at Davey. He wore a shirt and tie today and looked quite different; his hair was slicked back with Brylcreem in a way which made him look older. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  His eyes scanned her face, ran down over her throat and the swell of her breasts beneath the tight-fitting bodice of the scarlet frock. ‘I almost didn’t come but Ma insisted. Enjoying the goodies? Nice
of the Yank, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Very nice,’ she said, cheeks pink, aware that he was seeing her in a different light. ‘You know he was married to Mam?’

  ‘So I believe. Bit young to be your stepdaddy, though.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘There’s a law against it, you know?’ he said laconically.

  ‘Against what?’

  ‘You can’t go marrying your ma’s husband.’ His expression was deadly serious.

  ‘D’you mind?’ gasped Rosie. ‘What d’you think I am?’

  ‘I’m thinking you’ve got a soft heart and the Yanks have had their wicked way with too many of our women!’

  ‘Our women?’ Rosie laughed. ‘You’re mad! I’m not a woman.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ He swept her into his arms. The pianist was playing ‘Jealousy’ and Davey whirled her round and down over his arm.

  ‘You are mad!’ She gazed up at him, heart racing. This was fun. He brought her back against him with a jolt, squashing her breasts against his chest, pressing his cheek against hers. He shot out their arms and took her forward at a glide. ‘“It’s all over my jealousy,”’ he sang.

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into you,’ she marvelled.

  ‘It’s you, changing overnight. I knew where I was when you were a scruffy, dirty-faced kid, straight as a board with plaits. Now you go in and out and it’s driving me crazy!’

  ‘I was never scruffy,’ said Rosie indignantly. ‘Poverty-stricken, yeah!’

  ‘That as well. But, honestly, I remember you having to turn your socks inside-out to make them last out the week because you didn’t have another pair. You’ve forgotten now you’re living with your posh aunt.’

  ‘She’s not posh. Just hard and cruel,’ said Rosie, her expression hardening. ‘As for me, I’m just the same as ever I was.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’ve grown up.’ His voice was a caress. And he kissed her right on the mouth before she could do anything to stop him.

  ‘Hey, hey, hey!’ said a voice, loud as a ship’s foghorn.