Someone to Trust Read online

  ‘You’re a coward then?’

  The colour in the youth’s cheeks spread to cover his neck. ‘I’m not! Besides, you’ve a knife and me mam’s told me not to get into fights.’

  ‘So you’re a mammy’s boy,’ sneered Owen, clicking the blade shut and tossing the knife to one of his mates.

  Lucy’s eyes brightened. Any other time she wouldn’t have liked the idea of boys fighting but these two – the one who’d tickled her and caused her to graze her knees, and the other who’d threatened her with a knife - she hoped they punched the hell out of each other. ‘Up the Irish!’ she said mischievously.

  The youth lunged forward and swung a punch, grazing Owen on the side of his jaw. The next moment the boys were grappling, lost their balance and were rolling about on the ground, still pummelling each other.

  The girl who stood next to Lucy shrieked and darted forward. ‘Stop it! Stop it, Bert! Mam’ll have yer if yer go home with yer trousers all torn!’

  ‘Leave them alone,’ said Lucy, dragging her back. ‘Let them kill each other. It’ll teach them a lesson.’

  ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’

  Lucy glanced in the direction of the voice and could not believe it was that soldier again. He was hauling the two boys up and shaking them like a greyhound would a hare. ‘Owen, what has your mother told you about fighting – and here on church property, too?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Jones! You won’t tell her, will you?’ The boy was all supplication and apologies now. ‘I swear I won’t do it again – honest.’

  ‘She’ll have your hide if you do. Or worse than that!’ He released both lads. ‘Now beat it if you don’t want to feel the back of my hand.’

  Owen and his mates scarpered in the direction of the front gateway. Bert, followed quickly by his sister, went the other way, round the bulk of the church to the gates on St Domingo Road which led to Mere Lane and the Pit. Lucy made to go after them but the soldier moved to block her way. ‘What are you doing up here?’ He sounded exasperated.

  She thought of asking him what it had to do with him but changed her mind. She might get another lecture on justice and the law and the penalties for misbehaviour. ‘I used to live up here.’ She cocked her nose in the air. ‘We had a better house then. My dad earned a fair screw.’

  ‘What was your dad before he was killed?’

  ‘A ship’s purser. He was a Yorkshireman but met Mam when he came ashore here. He was a Proddy. We lived near St Edward’s College. Only first my dad was killed and then my granddad was attacked coming home one night up from Great Homer.’

  ‘The one who was in the police force, I take it?’ He sounded interested.

  She nodded. ‘He came from Cork in Ireland but came over here thinking he’d earn more money and perhaps the hours would be shorter and conditions better.’

  ‘Bet they weren’t, though.’

  She nodded. ‘Mam and Uncle Mick were round my age then. I was brought up with a proper respect for law and order so you’re wrong about me, you know.’

  He didn’t argue but asked where her mother was. ‘Why isn’t she keeping an eye on you?’

  ‘I’m not a kid!’ Lucy’s eyes flashed and she took a step back from him. ‘I’ll be leaving school at Christmas. I work now. One day I’m going to be rich and live in a big house.’ He grinned. ‘Oh yeah!’

  ‘Yeah!’ she said defiantly. ‘Anyway, I’m going now.’ She turned her back on him and called her brother, thinking it was blinkin’ tough luck on her the way this man kept turning up like the genie in ‘Aladdin’.

  Timmy slipped his hand into hers as they walked down Havelock Street. ‘Are you really going to be rich one day, Luce?’

  ‘Of course!’ She smiled down at him. ‘But right now I’m planning on buying sherbet dabs and toffee whirls at O’Donnell’s. We deserve a treat.’

  But when she got to the sweet shop and felt in the pocket of her drawers for the money it had gone. ‘Oh, no!’ she groaned, realising it had probably dropped out when she’d swung on the railing despite having pinned up her skirt. Timmy burst into tears when she told him what had happened and Lucy felt like crying herself. Instead she squeezed his hand and dragged him in the direction of home.

  It was as they passed the cinema with its glazed white tiled frontage that a poster caught her eye. It wasn’t the advertisement for Charlie Chaplin’s latest film which drew her gaze but a handwritten notice stuck to the poster, saying: CLEANER WANTED. APPLY WITHIN. She remembered what her mother had said about finding a job and ran the rest of the way home, but it was too early for Maureen to have returned from the cemetery.

  Lucy sat on the front step, fretting, knowing that jobs could be taken almost immediately after being advertised. She had to do something. She left Timmy playing in the court and rushed back to the cinema. She found the glass plate door open and stepped inside the foyer.

  There were two men standing talking there. One was the pianist, Barney Jones, known to all the kids who attended the Saturday matinee as Uncle Barney. And the other was that soldier! She could scarcely believe it and almost walked out again but at that moment Barney looked up and smiled at her. ‘What is it you want, lovey?’

  Scarcely daring to hope, Lucy approached the two men. That Owen up in St George’s had called the soldier Mr Jones. Could he be related to Barney who was so popular? He was always cheerful, and handsome into the bargain. He had wavy fair hair and lovely teeth. Her mother had likened him to Douglas Fairbanks who swashbuckled his way across the silver screen. But poor Barney could never swashbuckle because he wore a built-up shoe so you always knew when he was coming. Thump, thump, thump! Lucy had not see him for a while, not since her gran had been taken ill, but she trusted him to hear her out. Though she would have much preferred it if Soldier Jones could have disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  Even so she spoke up. ‘The job that’s advertised – it’s not what my mam’s used to but we need the money.’

  ‘You’re Lucy Linden,’ said Barney, his light blue eyes twinkling. ‘You’ve a lovely mother.’

  She smiled, knowing how pleased Maureen would be when she told her that, and thought that was why everybody loved Barney – because he remembered names and could put them to faces and say nice things. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I remember she lived near us when her family first came to Liverpool.’

  ‘You’re right again!’ Lucy glanced at the soldier, hoping he’d noted her story had been verified. Everyone knew Barney had a large house up on St Domingo Road which he shared with his younger brother’s widow, not that anybody Lucy knew had ever met her. Everyone knew, too, that he had several other houses and was part-owner of the cinema and only played the piano because he loved music and making people happy. Not that he ever talked about these things, everybody just knew.

  ‘Fancy that,’ said the soldier, an expression in his grey eyes that convinced Lucy he knew what she was about. ‘Give her mother the job, Barney. She needs it.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew the family, Rob?’ said the older man, surprise in his voice.

  ‘I searched their house the other morning. They could do with a break.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Lucy, nodding her head vigorously. ‘We’re broke and desperate. Mam hasn’t been able to work since Gran took so bad. We’re hoping Uncle Mick’ll help us out when he gets demobbed but we’ve no idea when that’ll be.’ Barney placed a hand on Lucy’s shoulder and, lowering his head, said in her ear, ‘Tell your mother to be here at ten in the morning with a bucket, brushes and polishing cloths. I’m sure she’ll get the job.’

  Lucy felt so grateful she could have kissed his boots. Instead she just thanked him and danced out of the cinema, barely able to contain herself until she got home.

  Her mother had still not returned and Lucy had to be off to the cooperage in search of wood offcuts to chip. Not that she depended on offcuts alone but cadged orange boxes and crates from the various other businesses round about.
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  When Maureen eventually came rolling home she was in no fit state to make sense of anything Lucy said. She went upstairs and was fast asleep when the girl took her a cup of tea so Lucy didn’t bother waking her but got on with chopping wood. Timmy helped her bundle it and load the cart. They were hungry, only having eaten a couple of sugar butties. Fed up with her mother’s thoughtlessness, Lucy went through Maureen’s pockets and found two pennies, four farthings and a florin. She took the florin and left the house with her brother.

  The fish and chips tasted marvellous and were consumed in St Martin’s Gardens so the gorgeous smell wouldn’t linger in the house and give them away.

  The following morning after Lucy had finished her firewood round she bought a Beecham’s powder, mixing it when she arrived home and taking it up to her mother. Despite having slept heavily there were dark rings beneath her lovely eyes and wisps of auburn hair clung to her sallow cheeks. ‘Never again,’ she groaned.

  Lucy sat on the bed. ‘Mam, you’ve got to get up. I’ve a job for you at Barney Jones’s cinema.’

  Maureen almost dropped the cup. ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I thought it was too good to miss! Dead handy for you, not half across the town like some of them who have cleaning jobs.’

  ‘OK, OK! You don’t have to convince me.’ Maureen put a hand to her head as if it needed holding on. ‘Although cleaning isn’t what I’d have chosen if I had any choice – which I don’t until our Mick comes home.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to move yourself. You’ll need to take a bucket and cloths and things.’

  Maureen stared at her and her eyes were sharp as she punched her daughter lightly under the chin. ‘Did you spend those threepences I gave you? Only I’m a bit short.’

  ‘We were hungry, Mam. I’ve done my round and I’ve put the money in the jar.’ But for the very first time ever Lucy had kept some money back, determined to build up a little nest egg for her and Timmy. Threepence a day, that was all, but she remembered her grandfather saying that if you looked after the pennies the pounds would take care of themselves.

  ‘You’re a good girl.’ Maureen’s voice sounded more cheerful as she drained the cup before climbing out of bed.

  Lucy watched her as she dressed, wanting to trust her but not convinced that if life got tough her mother wouldn’t weaken. If she did Lucy had to be prepared. She was determined she and Timmy would not go hungry again.

  Chapter Three

  Maureen got the job. A few days later Lucy watched her mother fastening a sacking apron around her waist before going to work. The girl picked up the galvanised metal bucket containing clean floor cloths, a scrubbing brush, a packet of washing soda and a block of green soap, as well as furniture polish. She hung it from her arm as her mother reached for the sweeping brush resting against the kitchen wall. ‘I’ll come and give you a hand, Mam.’

  ‘You might as well, seeing as how you’re not back at school yet. And as a reward you can take Timmy to the matinee on Saturday.’ One of the perks of the job was that Maureen received a pair of complimentary tickets for two evening performances and two for the kids’ matinee.

  Maureen took one last look at herself in the mirror and so did Lucy, wishing not for the first time that she’d inherited her mother’s looks, but she still had freckles and looked about ten. Both of them then went over to Timmy who was resting on the sofa with a blanket over him. He’d started with a summer cold last night and both mother and daughter were worried about him, mollycoddling him because they didn’t want it to go to his chest. ‘Now you be a good boy,’ said Maureen. ‘If you need anything, go next door.’

  Timmy nodded, gazing at the pictures in a book that Lucy had brought him from the library. His mother and sister kissed him and left.

  The weather was unseasonably foggy. It hung over the area like a damp Army blanket, catching at the throat and causing them to hurry. Outside the cinema a ladder was propped up against a wall where a youth was sticking a poster proclaiming what was showing that week. It was the first time that Lucy had seen him here and to her dismay she recognised him. Putting her head down, she followed in her mother’s wake, hoping that he had not recognised her.

  ‘Morning, girls!’ Mrs Malone, the other cleaner, greeted them. ‘How’s tricks with you this miserable day?’ She did not wait for an answer but continued talking. ‘I had a bad start. I broke me broom handle. Talk about bad luck!’

  Lucy glanced at her mother who had already got down to work and was dusting the backs of the seats as she hummed ‘The Londonderry Air’. Lucy looked back at Mrs Malone. ‘You believe in luck?’ The girl genuinely wanted her opinion. Was there such a thing as luck or was everything ordained by God? Which surely meant you didn’t have a say in what was going to happen to you.

  ‘To be sure I do. See this?’ The woman pulled a purse from a pocket in her long skirts and opened it. There wasn’t much by way of money inside but she drew out a bit of tissue paper and opened it carefully. ‘There’s me lucky four-leaved clover, come all the way from Wicklow.’

  Lucy stared at it dubiously. ‘D’you really believe it brings you luck?’

  ‘I found it, didn’t I? Amongst thousands of three-leavers. If that isn’t luck for yer, I don’t know what is.’ The older woman cackled, showing gaps in her rotting teeth.

  Lucy couldn’t help agreeing with her. ‘But d’you believe in some people being lucky and others bringing bad luck?’

  ‘Aye, I do, girl. Yer meets them all over the place. Everything goes wrong for some folks. If a slate falls off their roof, it hits them. If there’s a hole to fall down, they come a cropper. And yer can bet if their lads are playing football in the street, they’ll smash a window.’ She winked at Lucy. ‘Yous ready to get cracking with that brush? There’s a ton of orange peel just waiting for you.’

  As Lucy swept between the rows of seats she glanced up at the screen, remembering The Perils of Pauline, a series of hair-raising adventures which had helped keep some of the kids off the street and out of trouble at the cinema. Soldier Rob Jones should be pleased about that, she thought. Had she been lucky or unlucky the way he’d turned up in places where she’d least expected him? He’d certainly stopped the two youths in their tracks up on the Heights, and it was possible he’d helped convince Barney to give her mother this job, too. But what about that other youth sticking up the poster outside? If she wasn’t mistaken that was Owen Davies. Was he someone who’d landed a job because of the soldier’s or Barney’s championing? He was in what some would regard as Irish territory but Lucy wasn’t about to challenge him. If he kept himself to himself when they chanced to meet, that would suit her. She paused for a moment in her task, leaning on her broom.

  ‘What’s this? What’s this? Extra staff?’ said a familiar voice.

  Lucy glanced at her mother who swept Barney a smiling glance from beneath her eyelashes. ‘You’re not minding Lucy, Mr Jones? She’s a good worker and offered to help, not expecting any payment.’

  Lucy wished heartily she would receive some payment but guessed the takings wouldn’t run to hiring three cleaners as well as a doorman, cashier, two usherettes, a projectionist and his assistant, and of course Barney himself. He was dressed as smartly as ever, in a dinner jacket and white tie. It suited him. His hair glistened like a newly minted sovereign and when she looked at his shoes, which somehow denoted status in her mind, they were highly polished. She wondered why he had never married. Of course some women would be put off by that built-up shoe but he had money, a handsome face and a pleasant disposition to go with them.

  ‘How old are you, Lucy?’ he asked, taking a silver cigarette case from an inside breast pocket.

  ‘Almost thirteen.’ She couldn’t hide the pride she felt, considering herself almost grown up.

  ‘Good Lord! You don’t look it. But then your mother doesn’t look old enough to have a daughter that age either.’

  ‘It’s a silver tongue you’ve got, Mr Jones,’ murmured Maureen, send
ing him another of those slanting glances from beneath her eyelashes.

  Lucy, whose spirits had sunk at his words, wondered whether she should practise that look. It just might get her somewhere. ‘I need to eat more,’ she said aloud, thinking at the same time how proudly her mother carried herself. It was easy to forget she was wearing a sacking apron and occupied in the lowly task of polishing the backs of seats.

  ‘You’ll grow, girl,’ said Mrs Malone reassuringly. ‘I’ve seen it happen time and again.’

  ‘Well, I can’t stand here chatting, pleasant as it is,’ said Barney with a smile, rubbing his hands together. ‘You get on with your work, girls, but perhaps I can make it a bit more pleasant for you. Music while you work, hey?’ He clumped down the aisle to the piano situated at the front of the auditorium.

  Soon music flooded the place and Lucy’s feet itched to dance. She sang along to ‘Oh, You Beautiful Doll’, but soon Barney was ringing the changes and a tinkling melody put her in mind of a snowy street and a young woman with a baby in her arms. Lucy shivered, knowing that if the mother couldn’t find shelter then they would both die. The tempo changed, became rousing, full of excitement. It swept her along and she was flying away along the Mersey and out into the open sea. Then once more the music changed, was sweeter, and she felt as if her insides were melting, yearning for… exactly what, she didn’t know.

  ‘My, that’s romantic,’ said Mrs Malone in a dreamy voice.

  A few more moments of indescribable sweetness then the music stopped.

  Lucy felt bereft. ‘Don’t!’ she cried, dropping the brush and rushing down the aisle. Her eyes glistened because she had truly been moved to tears. She gazed in fascination at Barney’s long slender fingers, two heavily stained with nicotine, resting on the black and white keys. ‘How do you do it? I wish I could make people see pictures in their heads and feel so different.’

  ‘Don’t be disturbing Mr Jones with your questions, girl!’ Maureen’s voice was half amused, half exasperated as she hurried down the aisle after her. ‘It’s the last time you’ll be helping me here. What a carry on!’