Read Online The Sunday Girls by Maureen Reynolds - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maureen Reynolds
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better get in there and calm things down. What a day it’s been and what a world. No money and no pleasure in life – just a nagging man to contend with day in and day out.’
Mrs Dodds, who didn’t seem too perturbed at missing all the drama, said, ‘I was too busy supping my stout in the snug to hear any fighting but, when I got outside, I felt real queer-like and my legs wouldn’t hold me up.’ She turned to Danny. ‘Maybe this handsome young man will see me home. If it’s no bother, that is?’
‘Mind and give that cut a wee wash,’ shouted Rita as Danny retreated down the stairs with his burden. ‘Imagine that old codger. I aye knew she liked her stout but no’ as much as would make her legless,’ she laughed. Nellie, who had also witnessed this small drama, smiled too.
I didn’t comment because I didn’t really know the woman that well and I had problems of my own. ‘I’m looking for Dad, Rita. Have you seen him?’
Before Rita could answer, Nellie piped up, saying, ‘Aye, he’s on the march with Joe and the gang.’ Nellie looked harassed as the wailing cries of Rita’s child echoed in the narrow confines of the lobby. ‘If it’s no’ one thing, it’s another.’ She sounded fed up. ‘I tried to run down to the chip shop for five Woodbines but it’s an absolute madhouse out there. But his majesty, my man, will be looking for his fags when he gets back, will he not?’
‘Did Dad say when the march will be over?’
She shook her head. ‘To be honest with you, Ann, Rita and me don’t see your dad often, especially lately – although we’ve offered to help him out. He says he’s managing.’
I bit my lip, unsure what to do.
Nellie continued, ‘This march is a protest against unemployment and now it seems our dole money is going to be cut and we’re all to be subjected to this awful means test. My Wullie is on the march and I’m hoping he’s all right as well. Rita’s man wasn’t well so she put her foot down at him going. That’s why he’s like a bear with a sore head.’
Rita appeared and nodded. ‘Oh, aye, it’s obviously better being out with your pals, shouting and singing and chucking insults at the police.’
‘Aye, you’re right, Rita. Wait till my man gets back and finds I didn’t get his five Woodbines – all hell will be let loose.’ She turned wearily towards her house then stopped. ‘Heavens, I didn’t ask how wee Lily is. I hope she’s fine.’
I assured them that all was well with the baby. After the two women had gone I decided to wait for Dad in the house. There was no need for a key because no one ever bothered to lock their doors.
As I stood on the threshold, I almost burst into tears at the sight of the neglected and untidy room. The bed looked as if it had never been made since my last visit. The bedclothes lay in a heap, some on the bed and the rest on the floor, and not only that – they looked grubby.
Grey ashes had built up in the grate before finally spilling out in a lifeless eruption on to the tin fender. Some had even landed on the little colourful rag rug that Mum had lovingly made one winter from a pile of jumble sale rags. Dad’s boots had trodden cinders into the fabric, making the colours appear subdued under this ashy cover.
A thick layer of dust lay along the mantelpiece, covering the few cheap and cheerful ornaments that had also been Mum’s pride and joy. The wooden kitchen table was minus its oilcloth. There was a stale loaf of bread, a packet of margarine with a knife still sticking in its yellow surface and an almost-empty bottle with an inch of milk at the bottom of it that had long since gone sour and congealed.
The sugar bowl lay on its side, a trail of silver crystals decorating the rough table top in a haphazard pattern before mingling with a dried-up pool of tea stains. Beside this was a brown-stained cup with a thick sugary film clinging to the sides while brown tea drips formed a pattern on the outside. A
Mrs Dodds, who didn’t seem too perturbed at missing all the drama, said, ‘I was too busy supping my stout in the snug to hear any fighting but, when I got outside, I felt real queer-like and my legs wouldn’t hold me up.’ She turned to Danny. ‘Maybe this handsome young man will see me home. If it’s no bother, that is?’
‘Mind and give that cut a wee wash,’ shouted Rita as Danny retreated down the stairs with his burden. ‘Imagine that old codger. I aye knew she liked her stout but no’ as much as would make her legless,’ she laughed. Nellie, who had also witnessed this small drama, smiled too.
I didn’t comment because I didn’t really know the woman that well and I had problems of my own. ‘I’m looking for Dad, Rita. Have you seen him?’
Before Rita could answer, Nellie piped up, saying, ‘Aye, he’s on the march with Joe and the gang.’ Nellie looked harassed as the wailing cries of Rita’s child echoed in the narrow confines of the lobby. ‘If it’s no’ one thing, it’s another.’ She sounded fed up. ‘I tried to run down to the chip shop for five Woodbines but it’s an absolute madhouse out there. But his majesty, my man, will be looking for his fags when he gets back, will he not?’
‘Did Dad say when the march will be over?’
She shook her head. ‘To be honest with you, Ann, Rita and me don’t see your dad often, especially lately – although we’ve offered to help him out. He says he’s managing.’
I bit my lip, unsure what to do.
Nellie continued, ‘This march is a protest against unemployment and now it seems our dole money is going to be cut and we’re all to be subjected to this awful means test. My Wullie is on the march and I’m hoping he’s all right as well. Rita’s man wasn’t well so she put her foot down at him going. That’s why he’s like a bear with a sore head.’
Rita appeared and nodded. ‘Oh, aye, it’s obviously better being out with your pals, shouting and singing and chucking insults at the police.’
‘Aye, you’re right, Rita. Wait till my man gets back and finds I didn’t get his five Woodbines – all hell will be let loose.’ She turned wearily towards her house then stopped. ‘Heavens, I didn’t ask how wee Lily is. I hope she’s fine.’
I assured them that all was well with the baby. After the two women had gone I decided to wait for Dad in the house. There was no need for a key because no one ever bothered to lock their doors.
As I stood on the threshold, I almost burst into tears at the sight of the neglected and untidy room. The bed looked as if it had never been made since my last visit. The bedclothes lay in a heap, some on the bed and the rest on the floor, and not only that – they looked grubby.
Grey ashes had built up in the grate before finally spilling out in a lifeless eruption on to the tin fender. Some had even landed on the little colourful rag rug that Mum had lovingly made one winter from a pile of jumble sale rags. Dad’s boots had trodden cinders into the fabric, making the colours appear subdued under this ashy cover.
A thick layer of dust lay along the mantelpiece, covering the few cheap and cheerful ornaments that had also been Mum’s pride and joy. The wooden kitchen table was minus its oilcloth. There was a stale loaf of bread, a packet of margarine with a knife still sticking in its yellow surface and an almost-empty bottle with an inch of milk at the bottom of it that had long since gone sour and congealed.
The sugar bowl lay on its side, a trail of silver crystals decorating the rough table top in a haphazard pattern before mingling with a dried-up pool of tea stains. Beside this was a brown-stained cup with a thick sugary film clinging to the sides while brown tea drips formed a pattern on the outside. A
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