The Liverpool Rose (12 page)

When Lizzie had entered the kitchen, Aunt Annie had been sitting at the table, apparently writing a list, but now she stopped, thrust the paper into the pocket of her stained and unlovely black dress, and surged to her feet. ‘Good gal,’ she said briskly, waddling towards the door. ‘Get the big canvas bag, would you? It’s all I can do to carry me own weight, so you can tek the bag and bring home the spoils of war.’ She
chuckled richly. ‘I mean to do well wi’ the fades today ’cos Mrs Buckingham’s kids have all got the measles so they’ll need a deal of me fruit drink to cheer ’em up. And you know what your Uncle Perce’s like if he thinks I’m wasting housekeepin’ money on any belly but his’n.’

Together, aunt and niece left the house, crossed the court and emerged on to Burlington Street and turned right. Despite the early hour, the pavements were crowded and Lizzie shouted a greeting to her pal Sally Bradshaw, who was sauntering along the opposite pavement, a small child clinging to either hand.

‘I thought you said the Buckingham kids had measles,’ Lizzie remarked as she and her aunt set off towards the Scottie. ‘It looks as though two of ’em escaped anyhow.’

Aunt Annie stared across the road. ‘Them’s not Buckinghams, them’s Harrisons,’ she said reproachfully. ‘Surely you can tell ’em apart, queen?’

Admitting that she could not, Lizzie apologised and bit back the retort that, to her, one snotty-nosed kid looked remarkably like another. Besides, the Harrisons lived on one side of the Bradshaws and the Buckinghams the other, and since all the kids of the court played up and down the stained and filthy paving it was unlikely that anyone, apart from Aunt Annie, bothered to differentiate between the various children whose shouts and laughter resounded around the court daily.

Presently Sally, towing the little boys, came across the road. She greeted Aunt Annie politely and asked where they were heading. ‘Because we’re going along to the sweet shop on the corner. Mr Harrison’s brother, their Uncle Mark, docked yesterday and he’s
give me tuppence to keep an eye on the kids for the morning. He’s give the boys a ha’penny each an’ all.’ She smiled beguilingly at Aunt Annie. ‘Do you really
need
our Lizzie? Only I’ll share my tuppence – a penny each – if she comes along o’ me.’

Lizzie was secretly relieved when Aunt Annie smiled back but shook her head. ‘No, chuck, you ain’t gettin’ round me that easy,’ she said. ‘We’s got a deal of serious shoppin’ to do and I need Lizzie’s strong arms to carry it all back home. Besides, baby-sittin’ ain’t much in our Lizzie’s line, eh, Liz?’

‘Oh, well, it were worth a try,’ Sally said resignedly. ‘We’ll walk along o’ you until we reach M‘Larky’s Confectionery, and then I’ll be on my own.’

The three of them chatted inconsequentially until they reached the sweet shop and saw Sally and the boys disappear inside. Then Aunt Annie gave Lizzie a conspiratorial grin. ‘Mr Harrison’s brother! Who do that woman think she’s kiddin’? Everyone knows the “uncles” who turn up to call on Suzie Harrison ain’t nothin’ o’ the sort. I admit they’s sailors, but relatives they ain’t. That Suzie will find herself catchin’ more’n a cold one of these days, you mark my words.’

Lizzie nodded sagely; she did not know precisely what her aunt meant by her last remark, but she did know it was common knowledge that, during her husband’s long absences with the merchant fleet, Suzie Harrison entertained a great many young men, all of whom were known as ‘uncles’. That this was something to be frowned upon had been made clear by the attitude of other women in the court. They would willingly baby-sit for friends and neighbours without expecting more than thanks and reciprocal help when they needed it. Since they disapproved of
Suzie’s morals, however, it was usually left to her visitors to bribe some child to take the Harrison kids out of the way for a few hours.

Because of her size and the heat of the day, Aunt Annie was a slow walker. Presently, they reached the Scotland Road and turned towards Paddy’s Market, and began to make their way between the stalls. Aunt Annie knew everyone and was soon exchanging shouted greetings and comments as she pawed through the second-hand clothing on her favourite stall. After much cogitation, she picked out a blue gingham dress with smocking across the chest, a bright red cotton frock with a white ‘Peter Pan’ collar, and a fine wool frock, navy-blue with white trimming. ‘They’s all good material,’ Aunt Annie hissed beneath her breath, waiting until the stallholder was serving another customer before making her comment. ‘Choose which you like best, queen, then I’ll start in a-bargainin’.’

Lizzie looked longingly at the three dresses. Aunt Annie had chosen well. She loved the blue gingham, adored the red cotton and knew she would look delightful in the navy-blue wool. Of course, the garment was supposed to be for summer, so she should discount the navy-blue, but it was such a delightful dress! It had a white lawn collar, the popular dropped waist and three square pleats, front and back. Lizzie just knew that it would wear well and would be beautifully cosy in winter, compared to the shrunken wool skirt which had been her best garment for some while.

‘Best tek the gingham,’ Aunt Annie hissed. ‘That smocking will be all right for now, but mebbe we could unpick it as you gets fatter. Why, in another year, queen, you’ll be earnin’ your own livin’ and
buyin’ your own dresses, so this one will only have to do a twelve-month, less in fact . . .’

‘Yes, all right. I’ve always liked blue,’ Lizzie admitted.

Aunt Annie nodded, glanced towards the stallholder, then back at the navy dress. Then she leaned over the counter and spoke to the stallholder in what she no doubt imagined to be a confidential murmur, though Lizzie heard every word plainly. ‘Look, Missus, what sort of deal will you gi’ me if I buys two of ’em? Only in a couple o’ months, she’ll need the wool dress – the gingham’s fine for now, I grant you, but summer’s more’n half over . . . and the smocking’s already been unpicked down either side of the chest and I can’t do nothin’ about that, ’cos I ain’t too clever wi’ me needle and the gel’s worse. So what do you say?’

The stallholder named a price which seemed reasonable to Lizzie but Aunt Annie hissed her breath in through her teeth, closed her eyes, clapped a hand to one enormous breast, and staggered back as though she had been physically assaulted. ‘Two and tenpence?’ she wheezed. ‘I take it that’s for the pair of ’em?’

The stallholder shook her head. ‘Two and tenpence for the wool and one and six for the gingham, and at that price it’s little enough profit for me. Why, I must ha’ paid the gal what brought ’em in near on as much as that, an’ I’ve bin . . .’

‘Feedin’ ’em ever since, I suppose,’ Aunt Annie said with rare sarcasm. ‘It don’t cost you nothin’ to keep a pile o’ dresses on your stall, you can’t fool me.’ She stood before the other woman, breathing deeply and calculating on her fingers, at last announcing triumphantly: ‘Four and bleedin’ fourpence! Why,
that’s a week’s rent in some parts o’ the city! However, I’ll stretch a point and make you an offer. Would three shillin’ do you?’

‘Three and six,’ the stallholder said promptly, and then regretted it – Lizzie could tell by the sudden widening of her eyes that she had not intended to give in so easily. ‘And that means me ole man won’t be gettin’ mutton stew for his dinner for many a long day.’

Aunt Annie grinned and fished around in her pocket, producing a handful of small change. Carefully counting it out into the stallholder’s palm she remarked: ‘Mutton stew, eh? Well, now that I’ve parted with three and six – I think you’ll find that is three and six – it’ll be blind scouse for the next year most probably.’

‘When I say mutton stew, a’ course I only buys best end o’ neck,’ the stallholder said defensively, carefully checking the handful of pennies, ha’pennies and farthings with which her customer had presented her. ‘Ho, yes, me ole feller likes a nice bit o’ neck, stewed till the meat falls off of the bones.’ She jammed the two dresses into a brown paper bag, sighed deeply and handed it to Lizzie. ‘I can’t say it’s a pleasure doin’ business wi’ you, ’cos you strikes a hard bargain, Missus. Next time you comes a-buyin’, I’ll keep me trap shut until you reaches a proper figure.’

Aunt and niece left the market together, Lizzie clutching her bag delightedly. The gingham dress hardly needed any alteration and was made of good, strong cotton, while the wool dress was, if anything, a bit too large. When she had a few coppers, she would buy a sash, she decided, preferably a sash of white lawn to match the collar. She would look so smart that none of her friends would recognise her. She could
imagine how Geoff’s eyes would widen when he saw her decked out in navy-blue wool.

Walking along the pavement and heading for the nearest tram stop, for Aunt Annie could not possibly walk all the way to St John’s Market, Lizzie suddenly started giggling. Her aunt shot her a suspicious look. ‘What’s mekin’ you grin like a perishin’ clown?’ she demanded.

Lizzie giggled again. ‘That poor woman’s face!’ she said weakly, still fighting laughter. ‘D’you realise, Aunt Annie, that you got the gingham dress for eight-pence? And – and when she said she only bought best end o’ neck for her old feller, I thought you were going to say, why didn’t she try for worst end of neck if she were so hard up.’

Aunt Annie laughed. ‘I’ll ’member that next time,’ she said. ‘That old woman weren’t a bad sort though, queen. There’s many a stallholder would ha’ fought me up, penny by penny, until we’d got nearer what she wanted for the perishin’ dresses. Tell you what, next time I does a bake, I’ll take her in a couple o’ buns, just to show her I ’preciate her kindness.’

‘You could make her a mutton pastie,’ Lizzie suggested but though Aunt Annie grinned she vouchsafed no reply and presently, they climbed aboard a number twenty-three tram and soon found themselves heading for St John’s Market. When they descended from the tram in Lime Street, the day was still both warm and sunny and Aunt Annie hummed a tune beneath her breath as she waddled along the pavement. Lizzie knew that her aunt adored bargaining and would be looking forward to squeezing as many oranges and lemons out of the stallholders on St John’s Market for as little money as she could possibly pay. It was not that Aunt Annie was mean –
quite the opposite, since most of the fruit would be given away once it had been transformed into liquid form. But she knew, as did Lizzie, that fruiterers were always anxious to get rid of the bruised and split fruit since otherwise these would be thrown away as a dead loss at the end of each day. In these circumstances, any money that Aunt Annie paid would be unexpected profit, so clearly it behoved her to swell the pockets of the rich – and to Aunt Annie, all stallholders were rich – as little as possible.

When Lizzie had first moved in with Aunt Annie, she had been mortified by the older woman’s hard bargaining, for her own mother had not been made of such stern stuff. She had paid the asking price for almost everything, and had, Lizzie supposed, thought it beneath her to argue over cost. But very soon, Lizzie had realised that her mother’s circumstances and those of her aunt were totally different. With Uncle Perce spending all his money on drink and the boys grudgingly contributing as little as possible of their wages to the household, Aunt Annie could not afford to pay the asking price for food if she could get it cheaper. For the first time in her life, Lizzie had visited markets when they were about to close, shops at the very end of their trading day, and had even haunted such places as slaughter houses, where, if one were lucky, the men coming off duty might have odds and ends of offal which they would sell cheaply to passers-by. Since her mother had been dead now for eight years, Lizzie was well and truly used to making a little go a long way and regarded Aunt Annie’s bargaining with profound approval. She only wished she could do as well, but knew that kids had their own methods of getting bargains.

Half an hour later, Aunt Annie and Lizzie emerged from St John’s Market, the canvas bag which Lizzie carried weighted down with damaged oranges and lemons as well as with some bruised and battered apples which Aunt Annie said would still make an excellent apple tart. They caught the next tram home and, within a very few moments of reaching Cranberry Court, Aunt Annie was peeling the fruit, chopping it into segments and throwing it into one of her large saucepans. There was so much that she had divided up the oranges and lemons and meant to make lemon barley as well.

‘So if you’ll just nip along to Addison’s on the corner and buy me a pound of pearl barley, and I suppose you’d best get another pound of sugar as well, then you can go off with Sally and amuse yourself for the rest o’ the day,’ she said. ‘I daresay she’ll be rid o’ the Harrison boys be now.’

‘I’m just going to try my dresses on,’ Lizzie said, picking up the brown paper bag and holding it defensively close to her chest. ‘I daresay I might wear the blue gingham, if the fit’s good enough. I’d like Sally to see it,’ she finished.

Aunt Annie was agreeable so Lizzie whipped up the stairs and presently descended them again and went into the kitchen, feeling as smart as any fashionable young lady in her blue gingham. She paraded round the room under her aunt’s approving eye, holding out the skirt to show how full it was and admiring her reflection in the lid of the old biscuit tin which Aunt Annie kept propped on the sideboard for just such moments.

‘That dress looks a treat on you,’ her aunt admitted, having scrutinised her niece from every angle. ‘Next time you’ve a ha’penny to spare, queen, go along to
Paddy’s Market and buy a length of blue-checked ribbon. It’ll just add that finishin’ touch.’

‘Yes, I thought that myself,’ Lizzie said, taking her aunt’s purse from the table and holding it out to her. ‘How much is pearl barley, Aunt Annie? And sugar?’

‘Oh, tek the purse, there’s only a few pennies left in it,’ Aunt Annie said. ‘I know I said a pound weight of both, but you may find the brass won’t run to it, so get as much as you can for the money.’

‘Right,’ Lizzie said, pushing the purse into the pocket of the gingham dress. ‘D’you want me to come straight back, Aunt? Only sometimes there’s sugar to be had off the canal barges, if a sack leaks.’