Liverpool Daisy (15 page)

“A lot of men wouldn’t notice you neither.”

“To hell with her,” thought Daisy. “I wish I hadn’t come.” Aloud, she said stiffly, “I do all right.” She leaned over and
helped herself to another spoonful of sugar. She whirled the spoon fretfully round her cup while she wondered if the rain had stopped.

Ivy picked up the sugar bowl and sat with it in her hand, as if to protect it from further raids by Daisy. She felt that Daisy was smarter than she was; yet, she suspected, Daisy did not know her own value.

“How much do you get?” she inquired.

“Half a dollar. If I don’t like the look o’ them, I try for five shillun.” Daisy clapped her spoon into her saucer noisily. The woman was a proper Nosy Parker, she was.

“You could do better’n that if you had a room. Ever been to a hotel?”

“Me? In a shawl? Na.” She reflected for a moment. Ivy’s face expressed only honest interest, so she confided, “I got a house of me own. But I got someone living with me, so I can’t take fellas there. Not now, anyway.”

“Your ould fella there?”

“No. He’s at sea.”

“Don’t he ever come home?”

“He’s been away for ages this time. He don’t touch Liverpool. He could be gone for years.” She had not given any thought to the possibility of Mike’s return, and Ivy’s question introduced the disturbing idea that he might indeed come home.

Ivy took a tin of broken biscuits from the shelf under the table. She took off the lid and proffered the contents.

“Have a bickie,” she invited and at the same time put the sugar basin back on the table.

Daisy took several pieces of biscuit and popped them into her mouth one after another. One piece got stuck in the top of her dentures and she had a bad moment getting it off her plate with her tongue. “Ta,” she said.

“You married?” asked Daisy after she had downed the biscuits.

“Yes. Married to a comic. I used to be on the stage. He left
me years ago with a couple of kids to feed. Me Mam looked after them while I was dancing — choruses — in panto mostly. Then it got hard to find jobs — they like you thin as a rake — so I began to take fellas home.” The merry look went out of her face for a minute and she looked old and haggard. “Me boy’s in the army — he sends me an allotment — a few shillings, bless ’im. Gloria, me girl, went to London. She writes at Christmas. Says she’s workin’.”

The conversation passed to Daisy’s progeny; and Ivy was fascinated as a few sorrows over children were shared, including a tear shed for James doing time for dispatching a bloody Prottie, for little Michael, killed by a brewer’s dray, and for Tommy who had coughed himself to death and even for John who had run away to sea so long ago that it was doubtful if his mother could have recognised him if he ever returned. The high drama of James’s and Lizzie Ann’s arrests was gone over to their mutual enjoyment.

Daisy was just beginning to feel that she had found a friend, and the tin alarm clock on the mantelpiece said ten past ten, when suddenly there was the sound of the outside door being opened and the clomp of heavy feet on the stairs. Raucous, drunken voices shouted bawdy jokes to each other, and one loud male voice bayed, “Hey, Ivy, hey Doris. Open up there. Your loved ones has come in from the rain.”

In a matter of seconds, after opening the door and seeing the jocular crowd coming up the stairs, Daisy had been offered and had accepted Ivy’s late sister’s room next door, a noisome den still cluttered with the dead woman’s belongings. She snatched up her shawl and apron from in front of Ivy’s gas fire and followed her hostess into the dark room.

Ivy lit the gas jet and then the gas fire. “There you are,” she said, as Daisy blinked in the doorway at the sudden light. “Landlord’ll never know. Friend of mine has rented it as of next week.” She gave Daisy a playful push in the stomach, as she turned back into the hall, where the first men were shaking the rain off their bare heads like collie dogs. One of them slapped a bewildered Daisy on the bottom, and this had the effect of propelling her into the room; the man followed so closely that she could feel his breath on her bare neck. Ivy slipped off her wrapper and wriggled her pink satin-covered bottom. “Come on, lads, It’s five bob. Who’s first?”

A bear of a man clasped her round the waist from the rear, and they danced a conga into her room. The door was left ajar.

A shaken Daisy took the first tram home in the morning. She was bruised, bitten and in pain. She felt filthy and degraded. All the buttons were off her blouse, which had been nearly torn off her back. Her first client, a man so big and so drunk that she had been afraid of him, had demanded that she strip and she had hastily abandoned even her shift.

For the first time she learned what her trade could really be
like.

“’T was a judgement in the eyes of God,” she thought bitterly.

Her mind had got muzzy as one drunk after another came slinking through the half shut door. Only one clear thought had stayed with her, that for Nellie’s sake she must collect the money first. This she had done, shoving the precious shillings under the mattress as each man gave it to her. How many men could one take, she wondered? A goodly number judging by the happy shouts and yelps from Ivy’s room. Must have been a bloody ship’s crew, she told herself resentfully.

The two girls upstairs had opened their doors and screeched over the banisters, and this had led to a clatter of boots climbing to the upper floor amid cheerful whoops from the steaming mob packed into the tiny hall and staircase.

“How could men be such beasts?” Daisy asked herself as the tram trundled homeward. Now she had seen it all, for sure. She had been pushed around by men all her life, but never had she felt so helpless before them as she had done on this obscene night. Near to tears, she tried to console herself with the thought of the clinking contents of her skirt pocket. With that much money added to her present hoard she need not go out for several nights.

Sore discomfort had rapidly become sharp pain and she had begun to wonder wildly how she could shut out the still clamouring men, who leaned against the door jamb shouting encouragement to whoever was with her. She finally rebelled when a young stalwart demanded a service of her which she felt was unnatural. Horrified fury took possession of her, and the surprised youngster found himself propelled back through the door by a stark naked amazon mouthing language that surprised even him. He stumbled against the next man in the queue and for a second they were out of the doorway. Daisy slammed the door on them and shot the bolts at the top and bottom. Since she had already taken the money of her last would-be client, this
led to a lot of bad language in return and much hammering on the old oak panels.

Terrified, Daisy glanced around her. She snatched up her skirt and petticoats and struggled into them, pushed her arms into her buttonless blouse, scooped up the money from between the mattresses and stuffed it, with her stockings, into her skirt pocket. With her shawl, apron and shoes tight under one arm, she ran to the window.

“Hi, open up,” came a chorus from beyond the door.

“Holy Angels, preserve me,” sobbed Daisy, as she flung back the tattered curtains to reveal a big sash window.

She turned the latch and with one hand tried to heave open the long unused bottom half. It would not budge. She put down her shoes and shawl and tried with two hands. There was a lot of laughter from the hallway and a heavy thud suggested that someone had put his shoulder to the door in an effort to break it.

“Holy Mary, pray for me now,” implored Daisy as she tugged at the recalcitrant window. “Let there be a fire escape! Let there be one!”

The window gave suddenly and the rain blew cold on Daisy’s flushed face. She leaned out.

There was an iron veranda running across both her window and that of Ivy’s room. She could not see in the darkness whether it had a staircase at the end of it or whether it was enclosed. She crawled out and cautiously let her weight on to it. It shook uneasily but it held. She leaned back in and rescued her shoes, apron and shawl and then shut the window after her.

The wet iron hurt her feet and she put down her shoes and eased her feet into them. Then she flung her shawl over her hair which was tumbling down her back and wrapped it close across her naked chest. She put a shaky hand on the veranda railing and edged slowly along the complaining wrought iron beneath her feet.

She was numb with fear and sudden cold.

A shaft of light from between Ivy’s curtains lay across her
path. Beyond that she could see nothing. She paused at the light to peer ahead and then turned to look through the chink in the curtains into Ivy’s room. She caught a horrifying glimpse of Ivy standing stark naked astride a tin bowl. She was swaying like a dervish and flourishing an old towel round her head. Daisy could clearly hear her shout, “Come on, lads! Ivy’s waiting!”

Daisy moaned under her breath and put out an exploratory toe past the line of light. The veranda appeared to continue, so she eased herself past Ivy’s window. She put out her foot again and there was nothing under it. Daisy froze.

Afraid of what might be ahead and even more fearful of what lay behind her, she quivered with indecision.

“Perhaps I’m turned the wrong way,” she managed to think. “Staircase could be from the other end.”

Desperately she peered ahead of her. Below her she saw the sudden flash of a torch. The constable on the beat must be checking the back of the building, she decided. From the direction in which the torch moved it appeared that there was an open courtyard below instead of the usual tiny back yard. The light ran up the wall and illuminated for a second an iron staircase ahead of her. She nearly fainted with relief.

She waited until the torchlight had moved away and then edged herself carefully down the welcome stairs.

Careless of rats, she ran like an alley cat along the side of the building until she found an entry which led into a deserted side street. From there she found her way into Lime Street which was still quite busy, despite the rain. She huddled for a minute or two in the doorway of the Empire Theatre, until the sound of shunting in the nearby railway station penetrated her numbed brain. The familiar noise comforted her a little and reminded her that the station had a ladies’ lavatory where she might tidy herself. She sneaked up the side of the station and darted quickly through the Victorian archway which led into the platform nearest the waiting rooms. She ran the last few yards, at the same time hunting through her pockets for a penny. For a
dreadful second she thought that she had only silver, then her fingers closed over one at the bottom of her pocket. She thrust the coin into the slot on a lavatory door and nipped inside. Quickly she shot the bolt, despite the fact that both station and waiting room appeared deserted.

She leaned, panting and shivering, against the door for a long time. Then she combed her hair and rebraided it. She put on her blouse and tied the front of it together. Since nobody else seemed to be using the cloakroom, and she feared that she had missed the last tram to Dingle, she sat down on the edge of the lavatory until, through her dozing, she heard the first morning tram rumble by.

At home, she found an anxious Agnes, who had taken over the care of Nellie from George. It did not take much persuasion to get her to go home, and Daisy sank thankfully into her own armchair before the roaring fire which Agnes had kept up for her. Nellie was sleeping well, Agnes had assured her.

Daisy started to shake again from head to foot. She put her head down on her knees to stop herself fainting and let the tears come in floods.

A lorry rumbling along the street warned Daisy that morning had come. She raised her head and shook it, as if to rid herself of some of her wretchedness.

“Smarten up, Daise,” she told herself, “Nell will be awake soon — and what’ll she think it she sees you lookin’ like a wet week?”

She was painfully sore, and she ached from head to foot. But she forced herself to remake the fire, which had fallen low while she wept, and to put a kettle of water on to boil. When the water was hot she took it into the scullery and washed herself.

Never in her life had she had such a desire to scrub herself all over; the scullery was so intensely cold, however, that she compromised by washing her face and those parts of herself which were most uncomfortable. Afterwards she took out her teeth and rinsed her mouth again and again. She was covered with goose pimples by the time she returned to the living-room, to stand by the fire and dress herself in her two petticoats. With needle and thread garnered from the crowded mantelpiece and some buttons taken out of a spoutless teapot she managed to make her blouse useable again. From a dresser drawer she took out one of her precious pairs of bloomers — which she never wore during her trips down town. Their softness was comforting.

“When t’ pedlar comes, I’ll buy meself a couple of blouses,” she muttered with a watery sniff.

A piece of broken mirror was propped up on the scullery win
dow and she lifted it down in order to examine herself. She was marked quite badly round the neck and her eyes were redrimmed from crying.

If Nellie or anybody sees them hickies the game’s up, she decided. She mentally sorted through the little house for something to put round her neck. “Pretend I got a sore throat,” she advised herself. “Ee, I know, now.”

She went to the dresser and took out two old stockings and carefully wound these round her neck, pinning them in place with a safety pin.

She put the kettle on again for tea and spread her shawl and skirt over the oven door to dry. Though she was swaying with fatigue, tea and a bit of bread and margarine seemed urgent necessities before she slept. She hoped passionately that Nellie would sleep late.

After eating, she dragged her humiliated, weary body on to her bed in the landing room, heaved over herself the collection of old coats which formed her covering and fell into a deep sleep.

She was awakened by Nellie, who had pottered out of her room feeling stronger than she had done for some time. A warm bed and a warm supper had given her sounder sleep than she had known for weeks.

“You was sleeping the sleep o’ the dead,” chuckled Nellie. “What you doing with the stocking round your neck?”

Daisy heaved herself over to face the questioner and forced herself into consciousness. Every bone in her body cried out for more rest. Nellie, however, had to be cared for, so slowly she got herself up on to her feet. She was very cold.

“How are you, Nell, luv?” She rubbed her arms to restore their warmth. “Me throat seemed sore last night — that’s why I put the stockings round it.”

“Oh, I’m feelin’ much better.” Nellie looked concernedly at Daisy. “You must have got chilled. Your eyes is all red and your lips is swollen.”

“Och, I’m not so bad,” She grinned at her friend. “Now you get back into bed till I get the fire going again or you’ll be the one with a chill. I’ll bring you some breakfast. Did doctor say you should stay in bed all the time?”

“No. Said I could do what I fancied. To keep warm but have the window open. He’s coming here today, he said, anyways.”

“The devil he did. I’d better hurry up.”

She got Nellie back into bed and crawled downstairs. The doctor would not be the only visitor, she was sure. The place would be like a bloody tram terminus, she told herself. “I’ll need the patience of a martyred saint.”

Daisy’s forecast proved accurate. Visitors trickled in and out all day. Sickness held a morbid fascination for the community, and, when the doctor arrived, the bedroom was already overcrowded with three beshawled, high-smelling visitors sitting cawing round the bed like carrion crows. The invalid was looking exhausted, and the doctor instructed that there should be only one visitor at a time and only when Nellie felt like receiving them.

He had been shocked at the miserable state of the living-room through which he had passed, and sickened by the sight of the landing bedroom. Nellie’s bedroom came as a welcome surprise; it was basically clean and comfortable, and the fire gave plenty of warmth to the tiny room.

Seeing that Daisy seemed quite intelligent, he spent some time teaching her how to manage Nellie’s illness. It was apparent to him that she was herself, for some reason, exhausted, and he warned her to watch her own health.

“Och, I’m fine,” Daisy assured him, “except for a bit of a sore throat.”

Iddy Joey came to see his mother after school. He stood uneasily by her bed, shifting from one foot to another.

“When you comin’ home, Mam?” he asked her.

Nellie smiled adoringly at him. “Soon,” she assured him. “You missin’ your old Mam?”

“Yep.” He went to stand by the fire to warm his backside.

“Yer Dad make your breakfast all right?”

Yes, the ould fella had made his breakfast O.K. and they had had chips for lunch and a boiled egg for tea. Dad would be over later. Yes, he had been to school, and the teacher had given him a pair of socks from the lost and found box. He exhibited these to his mother — they did not match but, yes, they were warm.

When his mother ran out of questions and leaned back on her pillow, he waited for a moment and then edged to the door.

“Ta-ra, Mam.”

“Ta-ra, luv.” Nellie longed to call him back and kiss him but dared not. To pass T.B. to Joey would be the end, she told herself sadly.

Relieved that his visiting duties were over, Joey bounced down the stairs. Moggie saw him coming, and retreated under the table, his back arched. Joey went down on his knees and crept towards him, growling menacingly as he advanced. The cat spat as it found itself cornered. Joey seized its swishing tail and dragged the animal out from its retreat. The maddened cat scratched him soundly, as he swung it exultantly into the air. Joey howled in sudden pain, and let go. The cat fled into the scullery.

Nellie called out in fright at Joey’s sharp cry, and Daisy sped in from the back yard.

“What ails you?”

Wailing, Joey exhibited a thin wrist with a long scratch welling with blood.

“Och, you stupid git.” Daisy bent down, picked the child up and carried him lovingly to the kitchen tap to have his wound washed. Then she gave him a penny and sent him up to Mrs. Donnelly’s to buy a lollipop.

The postman brought another card from Mike. Daisy was so busy that she just stuck it up against the clock and forgot about it.

Maureen Mary, anxious about her gentle aunt, arrived in the
afternoon. When she let herself in, she found her mother boiling eggs. She greeted her daughter absently.

As Maureen Mary eased off her blue felt hat, she noticed the brightly coloured post card, and picked it up and read it.

“Our Dad’s coming home! You never told me!”

Daisy was throwing the eggshells into the fire and raking them into the coals to drown the awful odour they made. For a moment, she stood transfixed as the blood ebbed from her face. Mike home? Saints in Heaven preserve us! She felt Mike’s belt across her back as surely as if she had actually been struck; she felt his boot hit her bottom as he kicked her into the street.

Her hand shook as, with her back still turned to Maureen Mary, she dropped the shelled eggs into a cup and broke them up with a spoon. “Yes, isn’t it grand?” she finally managed to gasp.

Maureen Mary stared at her mother’s broad back. “You sound proper queer. Aren’t you glad?”

“’Course, I am. It’s me throat being sore that makes me sound funny.” She hastily put down her spoon and caressed her stocking-wrapped neck. Then she balanced a couple of slices of bread and margarine on top of the cup, picked up the salt packet and tucked it under her arm, took up a clean spoon and the cup, and thus laden, turned and said to her daughter, “ I’ll just take these up to your Anty Nell. I’ll be back in a tick. You could go up and sit with her while she eats.”

Maureen Mary nodded agreement, as she hung her coat on the back of the front door, and then watched her mother slowly climb the stairs. She seemed to find the climb hard, and Maureen Mary thought uneasily that her mother did not seem to be her usual brisk self. A twinge of fear went through her, as she realized that the elder woman might find the care of yet another invalid too much for her health. Even mothers were not indestructible.

Daisy herself was having the greatest difficulty in avoiding falling into hysterics.

“I’m demolished,” she wheezed, as she stopped in the landing bedroom to catch her breath. “What in the Name of God am I going to do?”