Sister's Trio Squad

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

'Come on now, I'll show you your room, you must be fair worn out. Then we'll have a cup of tea and something to eat.' Maura went out into the hall and they all followed. As she set foot on the first, uncarpeted stair she turned. 'Do you have the fifteen shillings your Ma sent?"

'Yes, why?' Margaret challenged.

'I'll just have to nip down to Rice Lane for some bacon, that's all, for your breakfast. We're a bit short today. Bart's "Panel" money can't be had until tomorrow." Margaret opened her bag and drew out half-a-crown.

This should do for now, we'll sort everything out later when we've unpacked.' There was no mistaking the annoyance in her tone and Maura took the money without a word.

Margaret was seething. Panel money or not, Uncle Bart didn't seem to go without his Woodbines or his pint of stout, judging by the stains on his shirt and the dirty glass, half-hidden by the side of his chair.

In the back bedroom which had been allotted to them, they stood in silence until Aunt Maura had gone back downstairs, the boards creaking beneath her weight. After the rigors of the journey and effects of the hangover,

Lisa felt like breaking down and crying. 'I feel so ill and now . . . this! I almost wish we hadn't come at all.'

'Oh, shut up! Just wait until I write and tell Ma

about this!"

'And what good will that do any Matty over to drag us all back!" of us, Nancy? She'll send

'Do we have to stay here?' Lisa pleaded.

'We've no choice. It was the only reason they both let us come at all and we've no jobs and less than twenty-two shillings between us.'

'Do you always have to be so practical? Sometimes,

Margaret, I could scream at you, that I could!' 'Oh, don't you start, Nancy, or I'll slap you, so help me I will!'

Nancy sat down gingerly on the faded patchwork quilt that covered the one double bed, with its old, rusted bedstead and lumpy mattress. She fingered the quilt with distaste. 'And I suppose we've all got to share this one bed?'

Margaret had taken off her hat and coat. 'If she thinks she's getting fifteen shillings for this. . . this hovel, she's mistaken! And when Uncle Bart draws his Panel money whatever that is - he can buy a single bed and I'll go with him if I have to, but until then we'll have to make the best of it. First things first, we'll clean up this room. Nancy, take your coat off and find an old dress.'

'I didn't bring any,' came the bitter reply.

Then you'll have to get that one dirty. Get rolled up, she must have soap and water . . ." your sleeves 'Our privy at home was cleaner than this,' Lisa said

with a sob in her voice.

'Oh, God! What must the privy be like?' Nancy groaned. Nancy had never been any good in situations like this, Margaret thought grimly. 'I'll go down and see her and, if necessary, I'll threaten her with telegraphing Ma to come over and see the state of the place for herself!'

'And you can tell her that all she's going to get out of us is five shillings and we'll buy our own food and cook it, too, when she's cleaned up that kitchen. Don't they have a Public Health Board or something? How does she get away with it, surely the landlord must get complaints from the neighbours? Every other house looked spotless. Oh, this is a fine start this is!' Nancy paced up and down the room, still fuming.

Lisa had begun to cry softly as Margaret left the room. 'Oh, Nancy, what are we going to do? I feel so sick

Nancy sat down beside her and put her arm around her. 'Oh, come on now, hush! We'll manage. Haven't Margaret and I always taken care of things? Hush now, Margaret and I will clean it up, we'll sort it out.' She patted Lisa's shaking shoulders with more confidence than she felt. But there was no going back, her pride wouldn't let her even think about it. She could hear raised voices from below and she stood 'I think up. I'd better go down. Margaret sounds as though she's getting the worst of it.'

As she opened the kitchen door, Nancy quickly took in the scene. Uncle Bart was still sitting in his chair but he was scowling blackly. Aunt Maura, her hands on her hips, her face an ugly shade of puce, stood confronting a white-faced, tight-lipped Margaret.

'She's told you then?"

'Fifteen shillings your Ma said we was to have for keeping you!' Uncle Bart growled.

'And five is all you're going to get and be thankful for that! Now we both intend to turn this house upside down. It's worse than a pigsty and is probably hopping

with fleas." Aunt Maura took a step towards her. This is Mine, do you hear me!' my house!

"The whole street can hear you I don't wonder. You're

a disgrace to the family, Aunt Maura,' Nancy flung back at

her.

Maura lunged at her, but Nancy side-stepped neatly. 'You lay a finger on me and I'll telegraph Ma and Matty and see what they have to say!'

'Oh, you as well. I've just had that from her!' Maura

yelled.

'If we're going to stay here, and you should be thankful we haven't walked out and reported you to the Public Health Office, then we're going to have to come to some agreement. You can provide the soap and bleach and cloths and we'll do the work. And if either of you touch a single thing belonging to us, then I'll be straight down to the Police Station or bring the Priest down here to see how you live.' Margaret's controlled iciness had far more effect than Nancy's heated insults.

Aunt Maura backed off and tried a different approach. 'Where am I going to get the money from? Bart's not fit to work. It's not our fault, things cost money,' she whined.

'He doesn't look that bad to me!' Nancy snapped. "There must be something he can do. He needn't think we're all going to work to keep him in beer and ciga rettes!"

Hard-faced little b***h! Bart snarled, getting to his feet with an agility that belied his affliction.

'Well, you can get out of that chair quick enough when you want to, Nancy scoffed. 'Bad back my foot! You should be reported to the head of this "Panel" for malingering and obtaining money under false pretences. Holy Mother! What have we come to!'

Uncle Bart went pale and sat down suddenly, staring shiftily at Nancy.

'Just where is the nearest church and who is the Parish Priest?' Margaret demanded. They looked at one another and Aunt Maura ran her

tongue over her bottom lip.

Nancy turned, her hand on the door latch. 'I'll

go

and

knock next door and ask.' 'It's Father Morley at Saint Francis de Salles, Hale Road,' her aunt muttered.

Nancy smiled to herself. They'd won that round. Things

could only get better, but she didn't trust the pair of them

and knew there would be other rows.

Margaret had followed Aunt Maura into a tiny, dark scullery that led off the kitchen. Ignoring the clutter of dirty dishes and pans, she instructed her aunt to fill the biggest pans she had and heat them on the fire while she searched for soap, rags and a scrubbing brush. Eventually, Margaret found a brush with worn-down bristles under the sink. Her aunt was muttering under her breath but she ignored her. Obviously Nancy's threat of informing the mysterious 'Panel' about Uncle Bart's non-existent ailment had had more effect than Nancy had realized. They would start by stripping off that bed, then they

could air the mattress by hanging it over the windowsill

and then she'd scrub the floor while Nancy washed the

bed linen. Aunt Maura could make some effort with that

kitchen and get a meal cooked. If Lisa felt up to it she

could clean the window and wash out the wardrobe and

chest of drawers. The sooner they all got jobs in Liverpoolthe better, she thought grimly, but Aunt Maura, Uncle Bart and number eighteen, Lancaster Street were obstacles they would soon sort out.

For the first time in nearly a week, Margaret had the house to herself. Uncle Bart had gone off to the offices of the Panel to produce the obligatory proof of his afflictions and collect whatever money they decided the said afflic tions were worth. Aunt Maura had gone to the shops with instructions to buy decent food for a change and not put it 'on the slate'. This means of obtaining credit had been discovered when Nancy had gone into the Maypole Dairy at the top of Rice Lane when they had run short of milk. She had been told in no uncertain terms that until the bill was paid and the 'slate' wiped clean, the occupants of eighteen, Lancaster Street were not welcome in that establishment. That and the stew comprised of fatty, gristly meat and green-tinged potatoes that had been set before them had been the cause of yet another argument. Margaret sighed at the memory.

This morning Lisa had gone into Liverpool to try for a position in one of the smart shops, and Nancy had taken herself off to the Rotunda Lyric Theatre at the junction of Scotland Road and Boundary Road and Everton Valley.

On her expeditions to familiarize herself with the area, Margaret had noticed the Dunlop Rubber Company, situated just past Walton Hospital on the other side of the road, next door to the Black Horse public house. She had enquired at the gate if the factory had offices and on hearing that they did, she had made up her mind to go and try for a job there. It was within walking distance and that would cut out travelling expenses. It would also provide her with the opportunity of going home at lunch time to keep an eye on her disreputable relatives. She was rather reluctant to try the larger city offices, since her work at Hearn's hadn't exactly been of a highly taxing nature and the large shipping and banking companies might demand qualifications and experience she didn't have.

Margaret looked around the kitchen to make sure everything was tidy. It had taken them four full days to clean the house from top to bottom, but as the furnishings were old and shabby, it still looked drab and seedy and they had received no thanks from Aunt Maura and only muttered curses about 'interfering, bossy little upstarts' from Uncle Bart. However, she could see he was beginning to fear Nancy's vituperative tongue and explosive temper.

She had checked her appearance in the mirror that hung above the mantel and was just about to put on her hat when the sharp, tinny sound of the door knocker echoed through the house. And it's about time too. She's been gone hours, and she's probably spent half the morning whining to her cronies about her "hard-faced nieces"," Margaret muttered as she went to the door. She pulled it open, ready to inform her aunt that she was going out but that she wouldn't be long and that there was a line of washing out in the yard that was ready to come in and be folded.

'Oh, so someone's finally at home! Who are you?" She was startled and took a step backwards. On the doorstep was a middle-aged man of medium height and build with cold grey eyes beneath bushy eyebrows, and a pursed, disapproving mouth under a clipped grey moustache. He was well dressed in a dark suit, clean white shirt with a starched, winged collar and charcoal grey necktie. Across his waistcoat was a heavy gold watch-chain.