Read Online Liverpool Taffy by Katie Flynn - Free Book Online
Authors: Katie Flynn
Tags: 1930s Liverpool Saga
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It’s Ma Kettle’s son, Kenny.’
‘Kenny Kettle!’ Ellen giggled. ‘What a name, eh?’
‘He can’t help his name,’ Biddy said defensively. ‘But last spring he took me out for a picnic … we crossed over to Birkenhead on the ferry and caught a bus right out into the country. We had a lovely time, I really enjoyed meself, but then, just before we got on the bus to come home …’
‘He kissed you?’ Ellen hazarded.
Biddy stared at her. Ellen looked such a fluffy little thing with that bouncy yellow hair and her big, blue eyes, but she was shrewd, for all that.
‘You’re a mind reader,’ she said accusingly. ‘How did you know, Ellen?’
‘Because that’s what nine boys outer ten would ha’ done,’ Ellen said promptly. ‘You’re young an’ pretty – what else did you expect?’
‘Oh! But I didn’t want him to kiss me, Ellen.’
‘Ah well, he weren’t to know that, were ’e?’ Ellen asked wisely. ‘Not till ’e’d tried and been told to keep ’is kisses to ’isself.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, if only he’d listened it would have been all right, but now if I so much as pass him in the back kitchen he sort of grabs at me. And it isn’t only that I don’t like it, but if she caught us Ma Kettle would tell me to sling me hook and then what ’ud I do?’
‘Ah, I see your problem. No money, a feller what’s got ’ands like a octypus an’ ’is Mam jealous as a cat. Hmm.’
‘I don’t think Ma Kettle’s at all jealous,’ Biddy said fairly. ‘But she wouldn’t want Kenny getting mixed up wi’ me, it stands to reason. She wants him to pass his exams and be a credit to her.’
‘Same thing; she disapproves,’ Ellen said. ‘What you want, queen, is out; right?’
‘Oh, yes! But how, Ellen?’
‘We-ell, I do ’ave an idea, but we’d best meet again, talk it over. When are you off?’
‘Off?’
‘Free from work, Bid,’ Ellen said impatiently. ‘Do you ’ave Sundays? What time do you finish? Six? ’Alf past?’
‘Oh … well, I don’t get much time off … oh Ellen, I don’t get any time off, not really, because Ma Kettle has me clean the house, do the washing and so on, on a Sunday, we work all day Saturday until ten at night because people going to the cinema shows want sweets when they come out.… I might get away later on Friday … say nine?’
‘Too late. What about first thing in the mornin’ on a Sun … oh ’eck, you work then. Tell you what, make th’old bag gi’ you a day free. Say you must ’ave it, chuck. This Sunday an all. An’ come along to Shaw’s Alley, up the back o’ the King’s Dock. We’ll ’ave a bit of a clack an’ a cuppa an’ see what we can sort out.’
‘Shaw’s Alley? But you lived quite near us, on Paul Street,’ Biddy said, about to slide off the crate butarresting herself to unhook her apron from an upstanding nail. ‘How come you’ve moved?’
‘Honest to God, Biddy, you ain’t the only one what’s done a bunk! Me family live at Paul Street still, it’s just me what’s in the Alley. Are you comin’ or not?’
‘Next Sunday morning? At about tennish? That’ll be all right, because she’ll think I’m in Mass. I’ll be there. Where’s it near?’
‘It’s on the corner o’ Sparling Street … don’t tell me, you won’t know it, not down there. Well if you catch a tram … no, a leckie’s out o’ the question, no dosh . Gawd ... d’you know Park Lane, chuck?’
‘Of course,’ Biddy lied haughtily.
‘That’s awright, then. Mek your way there, keep to the right ’and side till you come to Sparly, then it’s the first proper turnin’ off on your right and I’m second from the corner. Me name’s writ on the door, jest knock an’ come up.’
She had jumped down off the crate as she spoke, smoothed a hand over her bouncy yellow bob, and was hurrying up the road again. Biddy ran after her and grabbed her elbow.
‘Ellen … don’t go yet! Where’s your job? You haven’t told me a
‘Kenny Kettle!’ Ellen giggled. ‘What a name, eh?’
‘He can’t help his name,’ Biddy said defensively. ‘But last spring he took me out for a picnic … we crossed over to Birkenhead on the ferry and caught a bus right out into the country. We had a lovely time, I really enjoyed meself, but then, just before we got on the bus to come home …’
‘He kissed you?’ Ellen hazarded.
Biddy stared at her. Ellen looked such a fluffy little thing with that bouncy yellow hair and her big, blue eyes, but she was shrewd, for all that.
‘You’re a mind reader,’ she said accusingly. ‘How did you know, Ellen?’
‘Because that’s what nine boys outer ten would ha’ done,’ Ellen said promptly. ‘You’re young an’ pretty – what else did you expect?’
‘Oh! But I didn’t want him to kiss me, Ellen.’
‘Ah well, he weren’t to know that, were ’e?’ Ellen asked wisely. ‘Not till ’e’d tried and been told to keep ’is kisses to ’isself.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, if only he’d listened it would have been all right, but now if I so much as pass him in the back kitchen he sort of grabs at me. And it isn’t only that I don’t like it, but if she caught us Ma Kettle would tell me to sling me hook and then what ’ud I do?’
‘Ah, I see your problem. No money, a feller what’s got ’ands like a octypus an’ ’is Mam jealous as a cat. Hmm.’
‘I don’t think Ma Kettle’s at all jealous,’ Biddy said fairly. ‘But she wouldn’t want Kenny getting mixed up wi’ me, it stands to reason. She wants him to pass his exams and be a credit to her.’
‘Same thing; she disapproves,’ Ellen said. ‘What you want, queen, is out; right?’
‘Oh, yes! But how, Ellen?’
‘We-ell, I do ’ave an idea, but we’d best meet again, talk it over. When are you off?’
‘Off?’
‘Free from work, Bid,’ Ellen said impatiently. ‘Do you ’ave Sundays? What time do you finish? Six? ’Alf past?’
‘Oh … well, I don’t get much time off … oh Ellen, I don’t get any time off, not really, because Ma Kettle has me clean the house, do the washing and so on, on a Sunday, we work all day Saturday until ten at night because people going to the cinema shows want sweets when they come out.… I might get away later on Friday … say nine?’
‘Too late. What about first thing in the mornin’ on a Sun … oh ’eck, you work then. Tell you what, make th’old bag gi’ you a day free. Say you must ’ave it, chuck. This Sunday an all. An’ come along to Shaw’s Alley, up the back o’ the King’s Dock. We’ll ’ave a bit of a clack an’ a cuppa an’ see what we can sort out.’
‘Shaw’s Alley? But you lived quite near us, on Paul Street,’ Biddy said, about to slide off the crate butarresting herself to unhook her apron from an upstanding nail. ‘How come you’ve moved?’
‘Honest to God, Biddy, you ain’t the only one what’s done a bunk! Me family live at Paul Street still, it’s just me what’s in the Alley. Are you comin’ or not?’
‘Next Sunday morning? At about tennish? That’ll be all right, because she’ll think I’m in Mass. I’ll be there. Where’s it near?’
‘It’s on the corner o’ Sparling Street … don’t tell me, you won’t know it, not down there. Well if you catch a tram … no, a leckie’s out o’ the question, no dosh . Gawd ... d’you know Park Lane, chuck?’
‘Of course,’ Biddy lied haughtily.
‘That’s awright, then. Mek your way there, keep to the right ’and side till you come to Sparly, then it’s the first proper turnin’ off on your right and I’m second from the corner. Me name’s writ on the door, jest knock an’ come up.’
She had jumped down off the crate as she spoke, smoothed a hand over her bouncy yellow bob, and was hurrying up the road again. Biddy ran after her and grabbed her elbow.
‘Ellen … don’t go yet! Where’s your job? You haven’t told me a
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