Read Online Laceys of Liverpool by Maureen Lee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maureen Lee
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sang happily as they worked, all the old war songs: ‘Run Rabbit Run’, ‘We’ll Meet Again’, ‘We’re Going to Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line’ . . .
At half past eleven they stopped for lemonade and meat paste butties. By one o’clock Maeve, who tired easily, had begun to wilt and Orla complained she was fed up to the teeth with cleaning. Cormac was kneeling on a chair playing with the big old-fashioned till that Alice had always thought entirely unnecessary in a hairdresser’s. Fion was scrubbing away in the kitchen, longing to get her hands on a paintbrush. Having finished the lavatory, Bernadette was now brushing the yard. Alice had polished the dryers until they sparkled, though there was little she could do about the paint chipped off the hoods.
‘When are we having our dinner?’ Orla wanted to know.
‘Four o’clock. I told you before it would be late today.Go home if you want. You too, Maeve. Your grandad will be here in a minute to distemper the ceiling.’
‘Oh, Mam!’ Fion cried from the other room. ‘I wanted to do the ceiling.’
‘You can do the walls, luv. A ceiling needs an expert hand. I did our kitchen ceiling once and I ended up covered in distemper and looking like a ghost.’
Maeve went home to read a book, but Orla decided to stay when she realised Grandad was coming. They stopped and finished off the sandwiches, and Alice made tea in the amazingly clean kitchen. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with this stove,’ she told Fion. ‘It looks like new.’
‘Can I do the walls now?’
‘Not yet, luv,’ Alice said patiently. ‘But I tell you what you can do, go upstairs and look for some old sheets to spread around while the ceiling’s being done. We don’t want paint spilling everywhere.’
‘What are you going to do about upstairs, Ally?’ Bernadette enquired.
‘What d’you mean?’ Alice looked at her vacantly.
‘Well, it’s a flat, isn’t it, soft girl. You can let it, make a few extra bob a week. Once it’s cleaned up it’d be nice and cosy up there. It might . . .’ She paused.
‘It might what?’
Bernadette glanced sidelong at Fion and waited until the girl had left the room before continuing. ‘It might do for the person who give you
that
!’ She nodded at the bruise on her friend’s cheek that was gradually turning from purple to yellow.
‘Bernie!’ Alice gasped, shocked to the core.
‘I loved my Bob to bits, but he’d have been out the door like a shot if he’d so much as laid a finger on me.’ Bernadette folded her arms and regarded her sternly. ‘Say he hits you again or lashes out at one of the kids?’
‘He’d never hit the kids!’
‘This time last year would it have crossed your mind he’d hit you?’
‘Well, no,’ Alice said soberly.
‘It’s not right, Alice. No woman should be expected to put up with violence from her husband.’
Alice was trying to think of what to say in reply when the bell on the door gave its rusty ring and her dad came in. He climbed into a pair of greasy overalls and proceeded to paint the drab ceiling a lovely sparkling white.
Bernadette had turned bright pink and seemed to have lost the power of speech, Alice noticed with amusement – she’d had a crush on Danny Mitchell since she was eight.
At last Fion got her hands on a paintbrush and started on the walls. Alice began to rip up the tatty linoleum, aided by Cormac and Orla – a man was coming at eight o’clock in the morning to fit the lino she’d bought on tick yesterday in Stanley Road: black, with a faint cream marble effect, the sort she wouldn’t have wanted in her house, but that was perfect for a hairdressers.
She’d got a length of white lace curtaining and two lampshades at the same time, which she’d put up when the distemper was dry. She felt a tingle of excitement. Everywhere was going to look dead smart when it was finished.
Bernadette and Danny came back to Amber Street for their dinner. For once,
At half past eleven they stopped for lemonade and meat paste butties. By one o’clock Maeve, who tired easily, had begun to wilt and Orla complained she was fed up to the teeth with cleaning. Cormac was kneeling on a chair playing with the big old-fashioned till that Alice had always thought entirely unnecessary in a hairdresser’s. Fion was scrubbing away in the kitchen, longing to get her hands on a paintbrush. Having finished the lavatory, Bernadette was now brushing the yard. Alice had polished the dryers until they sparkled, though there was little she could do about the paint chipped off the hoods.
‘When are we having our dinner?’ Orla wanted to know.
‘Four o’clock. I told you before it would be late today.Go home if you want. You too, Maeve. Your grandad will be here in a minute to distemper the ceiling.’
‘Oh, Mam!’ Fion cried from the other room. ‘I wanted to do the ceiling.’
‘You can do the walls, luv. A ceiling needs an expert hand. I did our kitchen ceiling once and I ended up covered in distemper and looking like a ghost.’
Maeve went home to read a book, but Orla decided to stay when she realised Grandad was coming. They stopped and finished off the sandwiches, and Alice made tea in the amazingly clean kitchen. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with this stove,’ she told Fion. ‘It looks like new.’
‘Can I do the walls now?’
‘Not yet, luv,’ Alice said patiently. ‘But I tell you what you can do, go upstairs and look for some old sheets to spread around while the ceiling’s being done. We don’t want paint spilling everywhere.’
‘What are you going to do about upstairs, Ally?’ Bernadette enquired.
‘What d’you mean?’ Alice looked at her vacantly.
‘Well, it’s a flat, isn’t it, soft girl. You can let it, make a few extra bob a week. Once it’s cleaned up it’d be nice and cosy up there. It might . . .’ She paused.
‘It might what?’
Bernadette glanced sidelong at Fion and waited until the girl had left the room before continuing. ‘It might do for the person who give you
that
!’ She nodded at the bruise on her friend’s cheek that was gradually turning from purple to yellow.
‘Bernie!’ Alice gasped, shocked to the core.
‘I loved my Bob to bits, but he’d have been out the door like a shot if he’d so much as laid a finger on me.’ Bernadette folded her arms and regarded her sternly. ‘Say he hits you again or lashes out at one of the kids?’
‘He’d never hit the kids!’
‘This time last year would it have crossed your mind he’d hit you?’
‘Well, no,’ Alice said soberly.
‘It’s not right, Alice. No woman should be expected to put up with violence from her husband.’
Alice was trying to think of what to say in reply when the bell on the door gave its rusty ring and her dad came in. He climbed into a pair of greasy overalls and proceeded to paint the drab ceiling a lovely sparkling white.
Bernadette had turned bright pink and seemed to have lost the power of speech, Alice noticed with amusement – she’d had a crush on Danny Mitchell since she was eight.
At last Fion got her hands on a paintbrush and started on the walls. Alice began to rip up the tatty linoleum, aided by Cormac and Orla – a man was coming at eight o’clock in the morning to fit the lino she’d bought on tick yesterday in Stanley Road: black, with a faint cream marble effect, the sort she wouldn’t have wanted in her house, but that was perfect for a hairdressers.
She’d got a length of white lace curtaining and two lampshades at the same time, which she’d put up when the distemper was dry. She felt a tingle of excitement. Everywhere was going to look dead smart when it was finished.
Bernadette and Danny came back to Amber Street for their dinner. For once,
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