Authors: Katie Flynn
‘Tell you what, queen, if you’re good today I’ll bring you to the market next time we gets our legs loose. Will that do?’
‘Oh Nellie, I do love you,’ Lilac said, hugging Nellie’s hand to her pink silk chest. ‘I’ll be ever so, ever so good!’
‘And I love you,’ Nellie said, very gratified. ‘What’s more, I’ll bet a quid to a shillin’ there’s jam butties and cake and all sorts waiting in Aunt Ada’s parlour, to say nothing of what’s already on the tables in the court.’
Aunt Ada’s parlour was also her kitchen, the family wash-place and the twins’ bedroom, but today, because of the wedding, it would be all set up nice, Nellie knew, the same as the court would be. A court was common property to the twenty or so families who lived around it, but a wedding breakfast was a communal feast and almost always took place in the court since the guests could scarcely cram into the tiny houses. Today Nellie knew the court would have been scrubbed and whitewashed, there would be flowers and white paper cloths on the tables borrowed from the church hall and food arranged down the middle. There would be a barrel of ale, lemonade for the kids and tea for the old shawlies who didn’t care for liquor. A wedding was a big event in any community and everyone would have added what they could to the feast. Mr Finnigan worked for a local butcher and he would get Aunt Ada a couple of pig’s cheeks and some trotters; Aunt Ada would stew them with onions and they’d be fit for a king. Bessie’s Dad, Arthur Melville, would have bought the ale and lemonade since the hooley was being held in Coronation Court where there was a lot more room than in the Melvilles’ back-to-back in Conway Street. Because of this the Melvilles would contribute generously to the breakfast and buy all the ale instead of sharing the cost with the groom’s family, probably thankful to have been spared the orgy of cleaning and preparation necessary before one could hold a wedding. And the signs of the approaching nuptials would have been evident for weeks, Nellie knew; indeed, when Charlie had come
bashfully to the Culler to invite her to the wedding he’d apologised for the splashes of whitewash in his hair.
‘Been doin’ the walls and ceilings,’ he had said gruffly. ‘We’ve painted the windowsills and doors a good strong blue – Hal nicked the paint off of the docks when he had a day’s work a month or so back – Ada’s borrowed Mrs Hecharty’s new curtains, they’re blue silk with birds on, her Frankie brought ’em back from his China trip, and we’ve chose a big roll of oilcloth; red, it is, with a white and yellow pattern; the twins will fetch it Saturday morning.’
‘Eh, I reckon it’ll look a treat,’ Nellie said admiringly. ‘What’s your Bessie wearing?’
‘Dunno. I’m the groom, aren’t I? The bride doesn’t tell the groom what she’s going to wear,’ Charlie said reproachfully. ‘She’s a smart lass though, my Bessie; her mam’s good with her needle, so she’s making her something special.’
But now, fast approaching the court, Nellie felt a tug at her hand.
‘Is that it, Nell? Is that where the wedding is?’
‘That’s it, queen,’ Nellie said softly. She felt so proud she could have burst. Charlie had even whitewashed round the entrance to the court, he had painted the edge of the paving stones and put a couple of big old jars with bulrushes in them on either side. From within came the excited sounds of people preparing for a happy event; children called, a dog barked, someone shooed the dog away, someone else appeared in the entry.
‘Come in, our Nellie, just in time! Bring the littl’un and you can have a word with Auntie before we mek for the church. Come on, kiddo, you tek my hand.’
Hal, in a shiny blue suit with a white shirt and a red tie came out onto the pavement. Behind him hovered
another man, someone Nellie had never seen in her life before, yet for a moment he looked familiar. He was of medium height, with black hair which curled like a fleece all over his head, tanned skin and dark eyes which held her own steadily. Nellie smiled at him – he was clearly a guest – and suddenly realised that he reminded her of the Dunn’s devil who had given her chocolate for his marble years ago. But this young man was quite a lot older than the Dunn’s devil would have been, it was just a fleeting likeness.
And now Hal was making friends with Lilac, telling her what a pretty girl she was and admiring her dress and Lilac, who had shrunk back against Nellie’s skirts at this unaccustomed approach from a member of the opposite sex, suddenly seemed to decide he was harmless. She smiled at him and put a small paw confidingly into his. Hal smiled back, then put his other hand on Nellie’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.
‘Our Nell, you look a picture,’ he said roundly. ‘I’ll give this young lady a buttie whilst you have a word with Auntie, see if there’s owt left undone, then we’ll mek for the church together. Unity’s with her sisters; they left earlier.’
‘Thanks, Hal, only don’t go feedin’ Lilac, I don’t want her to get her dress mucky. Show her the weddin’ presents, she’ll like that,’ Nellie said. The second young man was still looking at her – staring, almost – and she began to wonder if she had a smut on her nose, or if she should have worn a hat. As Hal turned to go into the court he caught the young man’s eye and turned back to Nellie for a moment.
‘Oh, Nell, this is David Evans, he’s got a berth aboard a coaster trading from Holyhead up and down the west coast of Scotland. We berthed together before. I’m leaving with the
Moelfre Maid
when she sails
tomorrow: Dave’s mate, I’m cook.’ He turned to David Evans. ‘Davy, this is me sister Nellie and her gel,’ he said. ‘Come on, Lilac, let’s go an’ tek a look around.’
‘Hello, Nellie,’ David Evans said. ‘There’s nice you and your littl’un do look; well, I hope to see you later. Perhaps we might have a bit of a dance together when the hooley starts.’
Nellie murmured some appropriate rejoinder. So he was Welsh – that accounted for the lilt in his speech, the coalblack curls and sparkling dark eyes. But what on earth did the mate of a coaster and Hal have in common? She supposed, doubtfully, that David must only recently have risen to such heights and then, as she turned towards the house, she felt his eyes on her, almost burning on the back of her neck where the hair was lifted to show the fresh whiteness of her nape. She risked a quick glance back and he was still staring at her, with a sort of hungry intentness which made her feel hot all over. Suddenly she felt quite sure that whatever had caught his attention it was not a smut on her nose nor her hatless state. But she moved on, knowing that no nice girl would allow a young man to see that she had noticed his hot glances, let alone felt intrigued by him. Crossing the court she saw Lilac, hand in hand with Hal, going to view the wedding gifts. She looked happy and natural and indeed the sight of the court
en fête
seemed to have made a great impression on her – and no wonder! Nellie was glad to see that even the dustbins, which usually made the air ripe all summer, had been banished for this special day, and the flagstones which floored the court were scrubbed to show their original white and smelt of carbolic. The twins, armed with leafy branches, were keeping the flies off the food already set out on the long tables and Bertie came out of the house with a tray
piled with glasses and mugs. He saw Nellie and whistled.
‘Our Nell, I never see you look so gear! You’re a pretty judy, you’ll turn a few heads!’
Nellie dodged past him, receiving another kiss on the cheek and a rumbustious hug which rumpled her blouse and made her gasp and laugh. Before entering the house however, she checked that Lilac was all right without her. Hal, having done his duty by the child, had gone off to talk to his friend, but Lilac was clearly being well looked after. Nellie saw the child shyly take a leafy branch offered by Matt and start to wave it rather dangerously over a plate of scones. Freddy shouted a warning and Matt shifted her to a covered dish, informing her that it contained spare ribs which, when the hooley started, he would personally let her taste. Other children wandered over: a small, square boy with a frown and a cowlick of hair dangling over his forehead went and helped Lilac with the switch, and they started to talk.
Relieved of her most immediate worry and keeping her gaze firmly turned from the fascinating young Welshman, Nellie made her way up the narrow stair to the stuffy room under the eaves where Aunt Ada and her two daughters were getting ready. All three women were dressed, but Ada was pinning a wide straw hat on her neatly brushed hair, Jessie was wailing over a recently discovered hole in her white wedding gloves and Lou was trying to darn the glove whilst her sister waved her hand about and said it must be mice because it were all in one piece after our Ellen’s hooley.
‘There’s no mice in my house ...’ Aunt Ada was beginning, when she saw Nellie’s reflection appear behind her in the glass. She turned abruptly, the hat
tilting absurdly over one eye, and nodded approval. ‘Nell, you’re lookin’ your best. You tek the prize, chuck! Look at her, girls!’
Nellie looked at herself in the glass. Her shining fawn hair, freshly washed, showed the chestnut and gold gleams of summer and her usually pale, triangular face was flushed with excitement. Her grey-green eyes, fringed with thick, brown lashes, were wide and bright, the whites touched with blue, pristine as sheets on the line. I’m almost pretty, she thought with astonishment, I really am almost pretty! Perhaps David Evans was looking at my prettiness – now there’s a thing! Even her figure was improved by her best clothes. The lavender-coloured blouse showed off her small, high breasts, her waist looked tiny clipped in with the broad black belt, and the swell of her hips was accentuated by the gathers of the grey and white striped skirt.
‘She’s a credit,’ Jessie said. ‘Our Mam always said the Culler would do right by you, our Nell, and she was right. You’re a credit, that’s what.’
‘Well, thanks, both,’ Nellie said. ‘Have you seen little Lilac, though? She’s down in the court, wi’ the twins, keepin’ the flies off the spare ribs.’
The three women peered out of the small window. Aunt Ada drew back first.
‘She does you credit, luv,’ she said approvingly. ‘I ’ope she knows what she owes you, our Nellie. That dress musta cost a pretty penny.’
‘I got it from Paddy’s market for tuppence. Then the lace collar was threepence, pearl buttons a ha’penny, silk ribbon penny ha’pence for three yards,’ Nellie said proudly. ‘She’s a pretty kid, though; them curls is natural. And she’s nice, Auntie. A good little kid.’
‘Tell you what, why don’t we let her give the bride the posy, and the ‘orseshoe for luck,’ Jessie said
suddenly. ‘Matt an’ Fred, they don’t want to do it, they’ll be pleased if your littl’un would.’
And Nellie, agreeing that Lilac would hand over the posy very prettily, felt that she could have burst with pride.
By the time the wedding was over and the newlyweds had returned to the hooley in the court, Lilac had decided she was in love with Matthew McDowell and would undoubtedly marry him when she was a lady. She told him so and he laughed, but he looked pleased, she thought, and the flush which warmed his lean, tanned cheek made him even more attractive.
‘Me and Nellie are sort of sisters, but if I married Matt we’d be proper sisters.’ she told another friend, the small, square boy with the frown as they sat on the whitened doorstep eating spare ribs, Lilac muffled up in a huge apron of Aunt Ada’s so that she didn’t spill grease on her finery. ‘How old are you, anyway?’
‘I’m seven; me name’s Art,’ the small boy said gruffly. ‘Matt’s fourteen; he won’t want to marry a kid like you, when you’re fifteen he’ll be ... he’ll be ...’ he struggled vainly with the sum for a moment, finally ending, ‘... he’ll be ever so old! You oughter go for someone younger, sconehead.’
‘He won’t! And you shouldn’t call names and anyway I wouldn’t marry
you
for a sack of rubies,’ Lilac said furiously. ‘
And
you’re fat, sconehead.’
‘I am bloody not fat, I’m just strong. You’se a toffee-nosed snob, you are.’ Art put on a squeaky, effeminate voice. ‘Oh, what a pretty little lady!’ His voice went back to its usual nasal growl. ‘Toffee-nosed kid, and you’se is on’y a foundling! No mam, no da, you’se a real gutter kid!’
‘I am not! Nellie’s my sister ... I do have a mam and
a da, only they aren’t here right now. My mam’s a princess and my da lives in the big house with the pillars. I am
not
what you said!’
‘And I never asked you to marry me,’ continued hateful Art as though she had not spoken. ‘I’d rather marry a tinker’s cat, I would! Look at you, all wrapped up in an old apron; if the sun shines on you would you melt?’
Lilac tore off the apron and dumped her plate on the step. She got to her feet and threw the greasy bones straight at Art’s head, following that up with some brisk kicks to his shins with her small and shiny boots.
‘You’re a big fat old pig,’ she shouted. And then, in imitation, albeit unconscious, of something someone had said earlier: ‘How d’you like the trut’, me fine bucko?’
Art took a swipe at her; it was a half-hearted swipe and it missed its small, enraged target, who had quite forgotten her claims to ladyhood as she lashed out with her boots and shouted any insult which came to her tongue, and you learned a thing or two from the other kids at the Culler.
‘Shut your face, Lady Muck,’ Art said, when she paused for breath. ‘And pick up them greasy ribs off of our clean flags.’
Lilac turned away, tears of temper running down her cheeks – and walked right into Matt. He caught hold of her pink silk shoulders and then tilted her chin so she had to look up into his face. He had a lovely face, thin and brown, with laughing grey eyes and very white teeth. His hair was soft and dusty-fair and he was wearing a white shirt and long dark trousers. Lilac fished a tiny white handkerchief out of her dress pocket, blew her nose and then knuckled her eyes
briskly. Only babies cried as she well knew, and she didn’t want Matt to think her a baby!
‘What’s up, chuck? Been quarrellin’, have you? Did you spill them bones on our nice clean flags? Better pick ’em up before someone puts a foot on ’em and goes arse over tip.’
‘Ye-es, it was me,’ Lilac said, unwilling to admit that she had actually thrown them at Art but unwilling, also, to tell a fib. ‘I’ll pick them ... oh!’