The Cobbler's Kids (11 page)

‘Well, we enjoyed it. We took Benny to Wallasey on the way home to show him our old house and where Gran and Granddad Simmonds used to live.’

‘And left me here on my own with nothing but a plate of cold meat.’ He scowled.

‘And a tasty salad. You must have enjoyed it because it’s all gone!’

‘Bloody rabbit food!’ he glowered. ‘Where’s your mother?’

‘Upstairs taking her hat and coat off and …’

With an oath, Michael threw down his newspaper and made for the stairs.

Alarmed by the look of fury on his face Vera grabbed at his arm. ‘She’ll be down in a minute, Dad!’

Angrily he shook her off and bounded upstairs, taking them two at a time. Annie was on the point of coming down, but hesitated on the landing

‘What the hell do you think you are playing at, buggering off without a word, leaving me to fend for myself all day,’ he exploded, pushing her savagely against the wall.

‘We went to New Brighton … I told you we were going … and I did leave something ready for you to eat.’

‘Don’t bloody well answer me back!’ He lashed out and caught her a back-hander across the mouth.

Taken by surprise she staggered, and her foot slipped over the edge of the top stair. She swayed then lost her balance, and, with a frightened scream, hurtled forwards.

‘Mam! Are you all right?’ Hearing the commotion, Vera rushed to where her mother lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. She dropped to her knees, feeling for her mother’s pulse, trying desperately to rouse her.

She looked up at her father, who was standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at her poker-faced.

‘She’s not moving,’ she said in a frightened whisper.

Benny came running out of his bedroom and peered through the banisters. When he saw his mother lying prone at the foot of the stairs he ran to his father, clinging on to him, begging him to make her better.

Irritably, Michael shook him away. ‘Get back in your bedroom and stay there,’ he ordered. ‘Now!’

He made his way downstairs, and nudged Annie’s body with the toe of his shoe.

‘Don’t do that!’ Vera hissed at him, her eyes blazing.

‘You’d better go and fetch some help,’ he snapped.

‘What do we need, a doctor or an ambulance?’ she asked anxiously.

His face was blank. ‘How the hell do I know. Get anyone.’

Shaking with fright, Vera ran down the road to the phone box. She was so upset that she had difficulty finding the words to tell the operator what had happened and where she lived. As she reached home again she realised that she had not given their full address only said Scotland Road.

‘You’ll have to open up the shop door and put the lights on so that the ambulance can find the place,’ she told her father.

She thought he was going to make a fuss, but to her relief he did as she asked without protest. He even stood out in the roadway, waiting to flag down the ambulance when it arrived.

Benny was still huddled on the landing, his face white, his eyes streaming with tears, as he stared down between the banister rails at the inert figure of his mother still lying where she had fallen.

Vera kept on trying to find a pulse, but there wasn’t even the slightest flicker. She was equally concerned that her mother didn’t seem to be breathing. She longed for the ambulance to arrive although, in her heart, she knew it was going to be too late.

Annie Quinn was dead long before they took her to hospital. Vera cuddled Benny close, trying her best to comfort him, but he was inconsolable.

Edmund was heartbroken when he arrived home and heard what had happened. Bitter and angry, he vowed revenge.

In the days that followed, he did his best to comfort Benny, and distract him by taking him out or playing with him whenever he could. It was the worst time that he and Vera had ever experienced.

At first Michael seemed numb with shock, morose and withdrawn. Then he pulled himself together as rumours abounded as to how Annie had fallen down the stairs. Neighbours, newspaper reporters, even the police, were all asking countless questions. It meant that they found themselves reliving the horror of what had happened over and over again.

On the day of the funeral, Michael Quinn played the grieving husband to perfection. Dressed in his best suit and wearing a black bowler hat, he held Benny by the hand as they followed the cortege.

Vera and Edmund walked behind him, each angry in their own fashion at the way he was exploiting little Benny who, in their opinion, should have been left with one of the neighbours.

As well as the overpowering grief at losing their mother there was the fear at the back of both their minds about what the future might hold for them all. Their mother had been so instrumental in keeping the peace. When their father’s temper flared, and he was about to hit one of them, she had tried to placate him, even if it didn’t always work.

Vera knew that in future her father would expect her to run the home, and she also knew that her rash, lippy attitude was bound to antagonise him. Somehow, though, she would have to try to please him, if only to make sure that he didn’t bully little Benny

Eddy was determined that he would no longer be browbeaten by his father. He was more than halfway through his apprenticeship so, as soon as he was fully qualified, he’d be able to ask Rita to marry him and they could set up home on their own.

He’d make sure that it was nearby, so that he could keep an eye on Vera and Benny, and make sure they weren’t being intimidated by his father. As the eldest he felt it was his duty, and that he owed it to his mother’s memory to do so. Vera hadn’t said very much about how the accident had happened, but she didn’t need to, the weal across his mother’s face told its own story.

Some of the men he worked with at Cammell Laird’s had told him that his father’s moods were a form of shell shock. Many of them had fathers or brothers who’d been on active service and they said that they were the same. They were either moody or bad-tempered, or had frightening nightmares and woke screaming, thinking that they were back in the trenches.

He wondered if he ought to find someone who could talk to his father, and find out if that really was his problem. He never spoke about his army days and Eddy felt sure that something must have happened while he was in France to have changed him so much.

He could never remember him shouting at any of them or even smacking them before the war. Making them go up to their bedroom had been the severest punishment he could ever recall him giving.

True, his father had been younger then, but not all that much. It was only because he was so bad-tempered, and grouchy, that he appeared to be so much older than he really was.

He knew Vera would do her best to make sure that young Benny came to no harm from their dad, but she wouldn’t be there all the time. Benny came home from school almost two hours before she finished work at night.

He wondered if it was possible to arrange for Benny to go and stay with one of his playmates until Vera finished work, if their father would allow him to do that.

If Benny was a few years older, streetwise and able to stand up for himself, it wouldn’t be so bad. But he’d always been so protected that he wouldn’t be safe, not in the area where they were living, with gangs of young ruffians roaming around looking for trouble.

The kids who lived in Scotland Road, and the courts and alleys leading off it, were tough nuts. They’d pick on Benny and make his life a misery, simply because of his big blue eyes and mop of blond curls.

It had all been so different where they’d lived in Wallasey. He and Charlie had never had any problems, but then they’d had each other and he supposed that had made a difference. If anyone had tried to bully one of them the other would have been there ready to take his part.

He could remember what a shock it had been for him when they’d first arrived in Scotland Road. Apart from the dangers of all the traffic, he’d found right away that he was the butt of practical jokes, taunts and attacks from older boys because he was new to the area.

Benny was too pretty by half and also too trusting. He’d smile and chatter to anyone, given half a chance. Perhaps the best thing I can do, Edmund resolved, is to teach him to use his fists.

Vera was dead set against this idea when he suggested it. She didn’t approve of physical violence.

‘After what happened to our mam I would have thought the last thing you wanted to do was to encourage Benny to be aggressive,’ she said angrily.

‘Come on, Vee. This is different. We have to make sure that Benny can look after himself. You don’t want him to suffer like I did, now do you!’

‘Teach him to run then. Run so fast that the others can’t catch him.’

‘They’ll taunt him for being a coward if every time he’s involved in an argument he beats it off home.’

‘Maybe, but we both know he’s too young to defend himself. Isn’t there some other way we can make sure he is OK until I come home from work?’

‘Well, Rita sometimes does shift work,’ Eddy said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I could ask her to collect him from school on the days when she finishes at two and take him home with her, or to the swings, until you finish work.’

Vera smiled with relief. ‘If she could manage to do that until I can get something else organised, it would be a terrific help. Do you think she will agree?’

Rita did agree, and Benny accepted that she was going to collect him from school without question. The arrangement lasted for almost two weeks before Michael Quinn stepped in and demanded to know what was going on.

‘That can stop right now,’ he thundered. ‘In future, Benny comes straight home from school. Understand?’

‘He’s scared to come down the back jigger on his own. Bigger boys waylay him and tease him, and snatch his cap and throw it over the wall.’

‘Then tell him to walk down Scotland Road and come in through the shop.’

Vera was about to argue, but she thought better of it. Maybe her dad was trying to help, she decided. Letting Benny in through the shop was a concession none of them had been granted. The least she could do was give it a try and see how things went. Perhaps if they all pulled together and tried to help each other this terrible cloud they were all living under would gradually disappear.

Even though he hadn’t said so, Vera suspected that deep down her dad was as heartbroken about what had happened as the rest of them. He’d let his temper get the better of him, but she was sure he’d never meant to push her mother down the stairs.

Although Benny could now walk down Scotland Road and in through the shop he still seemed very quiet and subdued when she came home at night. He said everything was all right so she put it down to the fact that he was missing their mam. It wasn’t until about three weeks later, when Eddy ruffled his hair and he let out a scream, that she realised something was very wrong.

Filled with trepidation she lifted him up onto her lap and wiped away his tears. As she did so she spotted the mass of bumps and bruises beneath his mop of curls. She didn’t need to ask him how he had come by them. She remembered, only too well, the way Eddy had suffered the same treatment when he’d been younger.

‘Benny, what do you do in the shop until I get home?’ she asked gently.

At first he wouldn’t tell her. Then, very hesitantly, the whole story came out. He was expected to sort out the new leather soles into pairs, the same as Eddy used to have to do. Like his brother, Benny found it difficult to work out which was a right one, and which was a left one.

Vera didn’t need to hear any more. She knew that his dad had been trying to impress on him how it was to be done by ‘thumping his skull’.

In the months leading up to Christmas 1925, Vera tried hard to run their home and still do her job at Elbrown’s to the best of her ability, because she knew that was what her mother would have wanted her to do.

Some nights when she fell into bed, she felt utterly exhausted, and yet her mind was racing round at such a speed that sleep was impossible. She kept remembering all the things she had forgotten to do, as well as all the jobs that still lay ahead to be done the next day.

All the harsh, sarcastic comments her father made about everything she did also went round and round in her head, filling her alternatively with anger and shame.

‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to iron a shirt properly,’ he roared, when he found that the starched collar of his best white shirt had a slight crease in it.

‘I did my best, Dad. If the iron isn’t hot enough then it won’t bring the creases out, and if it is too hot it scorches the collar.’

‘So what puts the sodding creases into the collar in the first place then?’ he demanded. ‘I’ll tell you,’ he went on before she could reply, ‘your slipshod way of doing things.’

‘That’s not fair, Dad …’

‘I don’t want to hear your silly excuses, or any of your lip, my girl. If your mother could iron my shirts properly then so can you. Bloody slapdash worker, that’s what you are. Either that, or you’re thick like your brothers. Neither of them can tell right from left.’

It was much the same over his meals. She knew she wasn’t anywhere near as good at making scragend of mutton, or any other off-cuts, into tasty meals as her mother had been. She did her best, though, and Edmund seemed to enjoy almost everything she put in front of him.

Benny was still moping for his mam, and one of the ways he showed it was by being finicky about his food. Even so, he usually cleared his plate with a little gentle coaxing from Vera because he was afraid that if he didn’t he might get a hiding from his dad.

Her father was never pleased with what she dished up. He also made it very plain whenever she ran short of money on a Thursday, and had to serve up scouse made mostly from vegetables and leftovers, that she didn’t manage things as well as her mother had done.

‘Perhaps it is because you don’t give me as much money for housekeeping as you gave Mam,’ she pointed out defensively.

His face darkened and his blue eyes turned icy. ‘Of course I bloody well don’t, you silly bitch! With your mam gone there’s one less mouth to feed so you don’t need as much money.’