Biddy was as quiet as she could be, but even so Bobby began to mutter.
‘I’m awfully sorry, I think I woke him,’ Biddy was beginning, but Ellen shook her head tiredly and leaned out of bed to take the child in her arms.
‘No, it ain’t that. ’E likes to sleep wit’ ’is mam, so’s ’e can ’ave to suck when ’e fancies it. Come on then, Bobby, Mam’s ’ere.’
She was wearing a soiled underslip and now she slipped one shoulder strap down and put the baby to her breast. Leaning against the pillow, her eyelids heavy with sleep, she smiled across at Biddy. ‘Eh, ’oo’d be a mam, Bid? But ’e’ll sleep like a top once he’s et, then I can sleep an’ all.’
And since Biddy was extremely tired herself and Bobby not all that hungry, in a remarkably short space of time everyone in the small back bedroom was fast asleep.
Explanations had to wait until morning, but then Ellen and Biddy went downstairs early and got tea for the rest of the Bradley clan, save for Eric and Tom, who worked in the docks and had left much earlier.
‘Now then,’ Ellen said when they had made and poured the tea. ‘I’ll take a cup up to me Mam in a mo, but I wanna know what you’re doin’ here when you should be in bed at Ducie Street.’
‘I’ve run away,’ Biddy said uneasily. ‘I know you’ll say that I didn’t give it a fair try, but that horrible old man, Mr Maitland, tried to get into my bed. He were drunk as a lord, Ell, but I wasn’t having any. I hit him over the head with me amber egg and legged it here as fast as I could. So I don’t have a job right now. And what were you doing out at two in the morning, you bad girl?’
‘I told you, I went to a dance an’ met this feller, an’ ’e axed me back to ’is place an’ – an’ we talked an’ that, so I din’t notice ’ow the time were goin’…’
‘How much did he give you?’ Biddy cut in.
‘Two bob,’ Ellen said promptly, then clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh Biddy, don’t you go sayin’ things like that, what sort of girl d’you think I am?’
‘Daft and desperate,’ Biddy said gently. ‘Before I dropped off last night I couldn’t help thinking about our flat on Shaw’s Alley and how happy we were. Your Mam’s awful kind, Ell, but this isn’t a good place to bring young Bobby up, there’s too many of you.’
Ellen looked at her for a moment and then burst into tears. She sat down on a broken chair and rested her elbows on the rickety table and simply howled. Tears channelled down her dirty face and Biddy, rather at a loss, patted her shoulder and murmured comfort and after a few moments Ellen dried her eyes, hiccuped, and turned to her friend.
‘Biddy, I know it, but no one else does! I can’t gerra job because Bobby’s too young to leave an’ me Mam’s a lovely woman but – but she’s got worries of ’er own, she can’t add my lad to ’em. That cot we need – I’ve gorra find money for it from somewhere, ’cos I don’t ’ave no money any more, all what I ’ad I spent when Bobby were new. So – so what’s a girl to do? I wait till Bobby’s asleep, then I put on one of me good dresses an’ go down to the docks. I – I can earn a bit that way, an’ workin’ at night, like, means if Bobby did wake there’d be Minnie or Alice or Sal to see to ’im. But I know it’s no use … I’m trapped, Biddy, the way I always said I’d never be!’
‘There must be a way out, and I’ll think of it,’ Biddy vowed, taking Ellen’s hands in hers and squeezing them gently. ‘But until I do, don’t go walking the docks again, there’s a dear. I don’t want to sound like your Mam, but … it really isn’t right, is it, Ellie, love?’
Ellen grinned, a quick, bright grin, so that Biddy suddenly saw, behind the exhausted grey face and the dirty, stringy hair, the bright and perky little blonde whom Mr Bowker had loved.
‘It ain’t right, but it’s a bit o’ fun, Bid, a bit o’ life! An’ some of the fellers is good to me, in their way. Just stuck ’ere, day after day, that ain’t life, Bid, it ain’t even existin’. It’s what makes young girls go after fellers for a few bob … or float away on Mersey-tide, when things go wrong.’
Her voice was light but Biddy could hear the desperation behind the words.
‘Ellen, don’t! Think of Bobby, think of what would happen to him if you weren’t here to take care of him! And I’ll find a way out, I swear it. Look, I’ve got savings and you and your family have done me many a good turn when I was desperate. I’ll give you some money now, and when I’ve got a job I’ll come back and we’ll work something out for you. Only you’ll have to get yourself cleaned up – wash your hair, have a good scrub down, – otherwise I don’t suppose anyone will take you on.’
‘I’ll clean up … only when you walk the docks it puts ’em off if you’re too clean an’ fresh lookin’,’ Ellen said frankly. ‘They like to know you’re on the game just by lookin’ at you, especially the younger ones.’
‘No doubt,’ Biddy said faintly. ‘Look, take your Mam her cuppa. I’ll be off soon, before I lose my courage. See you later, Ell – I’ll leave my carpet bag and my bedroll here if you don’t mind. I don’t want everyone to think I was kicked out of my last place.’
‘Right, Bid, I’ll keep an eye on your traps. An’ now I’ll start in to get meself smartened up.’
Ellen went over to the sink and picked up the enamel bucket which she had rilled earlier from the communal yard tap. She tipped some water into a basin and began to wash her face. When it was clean she dunked her head under the water and rubbed vigorously with the bar of red soap, rinsed her hair in the water remaining in the bucket, then groped for a towel. Biddy put it into her outstretched hands.
‘There you are, you’ve got your nice fresh complexion back,’ she said as Biddy rubbed. ‘When your hair’s clean and dry you’ll be pretty little Ellen again. See you tonight, Ell.’
It seemed only sensible to go back to the same Employment Register on Bold Street and Biddy had every intention of doing just that. But she had not stayed with Ellen to have breakfast because she guessed that there was very little food in the house, so having given her friend the last of her money she had set off to walk to the centre of the city.
And whilst she was still some way from Bold Street, hunger had suddenly made itself felt. My stomach’s rumbling so loud that if I go and see Mrs Aspinall she won’t be able to hear me above the din, she thought. I’d best get myself some breakfast first.
She went through her coat pockets and found four pennies which would buy her something to eat. I’m miles from the savings bank on Smithdown Place, so I can’t get at my money yet, Biddy reminded herself, but I’d kill for a hot drink and a mouthful … where can I get a fill-up for fourpence? She did not regret giving the money to Ellen, but she rather wished she had thought to hang onto enough for a proper meal.
Still. Employment Registers did not open early, she knew that, so there would be no harm in walking up the Scotland Road to Paddy’s Market. There was a busy café there which opened early to serve the porters from the market – Thorn’s cannie house the local’s called it, though over the door it said
Miss Elizabeth and Miss Agnes Thorn – Dining Rooms
. Their food was excellent, Biddy knew, and their prices reasonable.
It was not far from Kettle’s Confectionery, either, but Biddy no longer worried that she might walk into Luke, Kenny or Jack. She was a part of their past, they might not even recognise her. And her guilt feelings over Ma Kettle’s death had long since ceased to worry her.
So she did not turn right when she came out at the end of Paul Street, she turned left, anticipation making her mouth water, her fingers clutching the four pennies in her pocket. Along Bevington Bush she went, walking briskly in the pale September sunshine, for it was another nice day. She turned right when she reached Wellington Street, then left into the Scottie. Thorn’s cannie house was not far and she could smell it even before she could see it; I’ll have a big mug of hot tea and one of their roast beef sandwiches, Biddy decided. Or shall I have a bacon sandwich? Or I could have a bowl of that thick lentil and vegetable soup with a hunk of bread on the side.
She reached Paddy’s Market and stood on the edge of the pavement, waiting to cross. It was still very early but there was already a good deal of traffic, mostly horse-drawn since they were mainly farmers and wholesalers delivering to the shops and markets. She heard someone shout her name as she reached the centre of the road but took no notice; there were a lot of Irish living and working on the Scottie and Bridget was a popular name amongst them, Biddy a popular shortened form. The shouter could have meant anyone …
She gained the further pavement and was able to see, through the doorway of Thorn’s, that Miss Aggie was doling out a plateful of hot peas and bacon chops to a burly market porter. The scent of the food wafted out – it did smell wonderful, would that, perhaps, be even nicer than soup or sandwiches?
She was still wondering when a hand seized her arm. She looked down at it. A small, fat hand, with dirty nails. A strangely familiar hand. With a very odd feeling indeed curdling her stomach, Biddy looked up the arm, over the shoulder, and straight into the face not a foot from her own.
A large, round face, with shrewd little grey eyes and a rat-trap mouth. A blob of a nose and hair tugged up into a tight little bun on top. A small, determined chin resting on three more chins, all much fatter and softer than the first. A scruffy black dress, the collar grey rather than white. A shawl around the shoulders, and a big white apron slung low round ample hips.
It was, without a shadow of a doubt, Ma Kettle.
‘Biddy, oh Biddy, I’m that pleased to ’ave found you!’ Ma Kettle’s small eyes brimmed with tears of sincerity – or something. Biddy was still too shocked to find her erstwhile employer apparently risen from the dead to query Ma Kettle’s motives. ‘Ow I reproached meself when you run off … you disappeared, chuck, disappeared off the face o’ the earth. I t’ought you was dead, I t’ought dreadful things!’
Biddy could only stare for a moment, then she found her tongue. ‘They told me
you
were dead – I saw the wreaths and Mrs Hackett, her next door, she said what a loss it was,’ Biddy said at last. ‘It wasn’t long after I left … I
saw
the flowers, honest I did. Glory, Ma, I even saw the funeral and someone standing near me said you was well-liked.’
‘And isn’t that no more’n the trut’, now?’ Ma Kettle said complacently. ‘Poor but honest, us Kettles … ask anyone. But that weren’t me in the coffin, chuck. That were my poor sister, Mrs Olliphant. You remember her don’t you?’
‘Yes, though I never met her – but she didn’t live with you, Mrs Kettle, she lived out Crosby way.’
‘Oh aye. But she moved in to ’elp out when you went, chuck, an’ not bein’ used to city life, she stepped out from be’ind a tram and … well, that ain’t a mistake you can make twice, if you understand me.’
‘How – sad,’ Biddy said. Ma Kettle sounded so matter of fact about the whole thing that it was difficult to sympathise. ‘But the day I did leave you’d gone to Crosby for tea – that was to Mrs Olliphant’s, I assume?’
For the first time, Ma Kettle looked a little uneasy. ‘Oh, aye … that. Well, my poor widdered sister were findin’ things difficult, so she’d sold up … I t’ought if she moved in wi’ us, took an ’and on the counter or in the boilin’ kitchen … Luke was gerrin’ wed as you’ll recall, so ’is room would ’ave been goin’ beggin’…’
‘And you made the arrangements the day before I went? Why did you do that, Mrs Kettle?’
‘It were Kenny, mainly,’ Mrs Kettle said. ‘What say we ’ave a bite o’ grub at the cannie ’ouse, queen? We can talk in there.’
‘All right,’ Biddy said readily. She thought it would be a rare treat to be bought a meal by Ma Kettle, who so hated parting with her cash! ‘I’m awful hungry though; I’ve not eaten since teatime yesterday.’
Ma Kettle sighed but waddled beside her into Thorn’s and nodded glumly as Biddy ordered thick soup, roast beef sandwiches and plum duff.
‘A nice cuppa tea will do me … an’ mebbe a wet nellie,’ she told the woman who came for their order. ‘Still, the young ’ave to be fed.’
‘Good thing they’s ’ungry, Ma Kettle, or you wouldn’t sell so many of them sweets you make,’ the woman observed. She went over to the food hatch and bawled their order down it, then turned back to them. ‘Shall I make that two teas? Eatin’ without a bevvy’s thirsty work.’
Biddy said tea would be fine for her, too, and then turned expectantly back to Ma Kettle. ‘Well, Mrs Kettle? So you left me to do all the work and went over to Crosby to your sister’s place. Why was that?’
‘Kenny said either I give you time off an’ – an’ pay you a trifle every week or ’e’d tell the Father,
an
’ the nuns,
an
’ me brother Perce what moved to Australy ten year agone, that I weren’t good to you,’ Ma Kettle said defensively. ‘Blackmail, that was – from me own son! But I’d got used to you, Biddy, an’ I couldn’t see as ’ow I could manage, unless me sister Olliphant would come an’ give an ’and. See, I’d been sendin’ ’er the odd bob or two ever since Mr Olliphant fell off ’is perch, an’ it wouldn’t ’ave cost me nothin’ to ’ave ’er to live. So back we comes from Crosby, wi’ Mrs Olliphant an’ ’er traps, all smiles, to tell you t’ings was goin’ to be easier in future … an’ we found your note. Oh, our Kenny were mad wi’ me! ’E rang a chime round my lugs, ’e said it were no more’n I deserved … an’ ’e moved out! Never come near nor by ’e din’t, not till me sister Olliphant’s funeral. An’ even then ’e wouldn’t come back to live, ’cos ’e ain’t never forgive me for you runnin’ off. Said I’d ruined ’is life, I seems to ’member,’ she finished, miserably.
‘I think I know what Kenny meant, but it wasn’t true, I promise you,’ Biddy said, unexpectedly touched by the expression on the older woman’s face. It occurred to her that Ma Kettle really had aged considerably in the time they had been apart and she really did love Kenny; it must have cut her to the quick to find she had lost him. And Luke, being married now, would be as good as lost too, which only left Jack, who was at sea eleven months out of the twelve.
‘No, I dessay it weren’t,’ Ma Kettle said, just as their food arrived. There was a pause whilst the woman slapped the dishes down on the rough wooden table, then Ma Kettle gave a cavernous sigh, picked up her tea, took a swig and eyed Biddy hopefully. ‘But if you was to come ’ome, Bid, so’s our Kenny could see for ’imself I ’adn’t ruined ’is life? I’d be rare obliged.… I’d pay a fair wage, I’d keep young Penny what does me ’ousework, you could ’ave two days a week off.… No one’s got a way wi’ fudge like you, queen. You took the worry out of the work some’ow, an’ I trusted you, never doubted you’d do your best. Well, what d’you say?’