pageant.
Chapter Five
‘And what’re you looking so ’appy about?’ Mum asked the moment Eveline showed her face that evening.
She couldn’t help smirking. Happy? She was ecstatic but had hoped it wouldn’t show. Even a dismissive shrug couldn’t conceal her feelings.
‘Yer look like yer’ve lost a penny and found a pound.’ Mum loved changing idioms around to suit the occasion.
‘I’ve had a nice afternoon, that’s all,’ she muttered as offhandedly as she could but knowing full well that wouldn’t fool her mother for a minute, ever in hope of her finding a suitable young man.
‘Meet someone nice, did yer?’
‘Where’s Dad?’ Eveline evaded, hanging her coat on the peg behind the living-room door to be followed by her wide-brimmed hat. She would see if she could buy a new, more fashionable hat ready for the Tuesday pageant – dig into her modest savings for it.
‘Still downstairs,’ came the reply. ‘Where else on Saturday evening? Yer sister’s giving, ’im an ’and down there while I do the dinner.’ Mum was regarding her keenly. ‘So who is it then what’s made yer face all glowing?’
Eveline dropped on to one of the upright chairs in the family living-cum-dining room.
There were only two armchairs, one for Mum and one for Dad, and woe betide anyone who used them without permission. No room for a sofa what with the dining table large enough for a dozen people, the chest of drawers and the bed in one corner partially shielded from sight by the Chinese screen that had belonged to Gran, all taking up so much space. It was left for everyone else to use the six hard chairs and two stools, often drawn up to the table not only for meals but when the family was indulging in their various hobbies of an evening, elbows supported on its surface on which after every meal was done Mum would spread her maroon chenille table-cover.
Mum came to stand over her. She’d grown plumper with the years but at forty-one she was still as solid as she had ever been – a worker, helping her husband in his shop and doing her own chores, disdaining paid help though most in her position would at least have had someone to do the general housework. She did however relent about the laundry, sending it out to a woman who lived not far off, on the other side of the arches.
Mum would inspect every article that came back, her brown eyes in her rounded face sharply critical while she remarked without fail, ‘I could of done this better meself,’ but she never did nor changed her washerwoman.
‘So, who is it?’ she prompted Eveline, who responded with a resigned sigh. You couldn’t keep anything from Mum for long.
‘Just someone I met.’
‘Nice, was he?’
‘All right, I suppose.’ To her relief the non-committal reply made her mother relent; suddenly she deemed immediate matters to be more pressing.
‘Well, don’t just sit there! There’s things ter be done so make yerself useful. The table’s still got ter be laid and the cabbage needs ter be strained and taters mashed.’
Mum moved past her towards the kitchen, pausing to look over her shoulder.
‘Come on then, blooming Miss Lazybones. Sausages are nearly done. I just got ter make the gravy.’
To her, plain sausage and mash was common fare. Saturday called for them to be done in the oven with onions and Bisto gravy.
‘Yer dad ought ter be closing up now and ready for ’is tea.’
She said it hopefully. If a customer banged on his door for a purchase they’d left until the last moment, even if he’d that minute locked up and drawn down the door blind, he’d open up for them: whether from goodwill or just to make that few extra pennies was never certain, though to pay rent on the shop and flat and feed a family every penny helped.
Tonight he’d closed on time, coming up the back stairs with the cash box under his arm, May following. Coming in he glanced at Eveline, grunted but said nothing. He didn’t approve of what he called idle
Chapter Five
‘And what’re you looking so ’appy about?’ Mum asked the moment Eveline showed her face that evening.
She couldn’t help smirking. Happy? She was ecstatic but had hoped it wouldn’t show. Even a dismissive shrug couldn’t conceal her feelings.
‘Yer look like yer’ve lost a penny and found a pound.’ Mum loved changing idioms around to suit the occasion.
‘I’ve had a nice afternoon, that’s all,’ she muttered as offhandedly as she could but knowing full well that wouldn’t fool her mother for a minute, ever in hope of her finding a suitable young man.
‘Meet someone nice, did yer?’
‘Where’s Dad?’ Eveline evaded, hanging her coat on the peg behind the living-room door to be followed by her wide-brimmed hat. She would see if she could buy a new, more fashionable hat ready for the Tuesday pageant – dig into her modest savings for it.
‘Still downstairs,’ came the reply. ‘Where else on Saturday evening? Yer sister’s giving, ’im an ’and down there while I do the dinner.’ Mum was regarding her keenly. ‘So who is it then what’s made yer face all glowing?’
Eveline dropped on to one of the upright chairs in the family living-cum-dining room.
There were only two armchairs, one for Mum and one for Dad, and woe betide anyone who used them without permission. No room for a sofa what with the dining table large enough for a dozen people, the chest of drawers and the bed in one corner partially shielded from sight by the Chinese screen that had belonged to Gran, all taking up so much space. It was left for everyone else to use the six hard chairs and two stools, often drawn up to the table not only for meals but when the family was indulging in their various hobbies of an evening, elbows supported on its surface on which after every meal was done Mum would spread her maroon chenille table-cover.
Mum came to stand over her. She’d grown plumper with the years but at forty-one she was still as solid as she had ever been – a worker, helping her husband in his shop and doing her own chores, disdaining paid help though most in her position would at least have had someone to do the general housework. She did however relent about the laundry, sending it out to a woman who lived not far off, on the other side of the arches.
Mum would inspect every article that came back, her brown eyes in her rounded face sharply critical while she remarked without fail, ‘I could of done this better meself,’ but she never did nor changed her washerwoman.
‘So, who is it?’ she prompted Eveline, who responded with a resigned sigh. You couldn’t keep anything from Mum for long.
‘Just someone I met.’
‘Nice, was he?’
‘All right, I suppose.’ To her relief the non-committal reply made her mother relent; suddenly she deemed immediate matters to be more pressing.
‘Well, don’t just sit there! There’s things ter be done so make yerself useful. The table’s still got ter be laid and the cabbage needs ter be strained and taters mashed.’
Mum moved past her towards the kitchen, pausing to look over her shoulder.
‘Come on then, blooming Miss Lazybones. Sausages are nearly done. I just got ter make the gravy.’
To her, plain sausage and mash was common fare. Saturday called for them to be done in the oven with onions and Bisto gravy.
‘Yer dad ought ter be closing up now and ready for ’is tea.’
She said it hopefully. If a customer banged on his door for a purchase they’d left until the last moment, even if he’d that minute locked up and drawn down the door blind, he’d open up for them: whether from goodwill or just to make that few extra pennies was never certain, though to pay rent on the shop and flat and feed a family every penny helped.
Tonight he’d closed on time, coming up the back stairs with the cash box under his arm, May following. Coming in he glanced at Eveline, grunted but said nothing. He didn’t approve of what he called idle
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