MB02 - Last Tram To Lime Street

  Last Tram To

  Lime Street

  Joan Jonker

  Copyright © 1995 Joan Jonker

  The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN: 978 0 7553 9196 7

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Joan Jonker

  Dedication

  Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War when she met and fell in love with her husband, Tony. For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and it was during this time that she turned to writing fiction. Sadly, after a brave battle against illness, Joan died in February 2006. Her best-selling Liverpool sagas will continue to enthral readers throughout the world.

  Joan Jonker’s previous novels, several of which feature the unforgettable duo Molly and Nellie, have won millions of adoring fans:

  ‘Wonderful … the characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York

  ‘I enjoy your books for they bring back memories of my younger days’ Frances Hassett, Brixham, Devon

  ‘Thanks for all the good reads’ Phyllis Portock, Walsall

  ‘I love your books, Joan, they bring back such happy memories’ J. Mullett, Lancashire

  ‘I’m an ardent fan, Joan, an avid reader of your books. As an old Liverpudlian, I appreciate the humour. Thank you for so many happy hours’ Mrs L. Broomhead, Liverpool

  Also by Joan Jonker

  When One Door Closes

  Man Of The House

  Home Is Where The Heart Is

  The Pride Of Polly Perkins

  Sadie Was A Lady

  Walking My Baby Back Home

  Try A Little Tenderness

  Stay As Sweet As You Are

  Dream A Little Dream

  Many A Tear Has To Fall

  Taking A Chance On Love

  Strolling With The One I Love

  When Wishes Come True

  The Girl From Number 22

  One Rainy Day

  Featuring Molly Bennett and Nellie McDonough

  Stay In Your Own Back Yard

  Last Tram To Lime Street

  Sweet Rosie O’Grady

  Down Our Street

  After The Dance Is Over

  The Sunshine Of Your Smile

  Three Little Words

  I’ll Be Your Sweetheart

  Non-fiction

  Victims Of Violence

  To my sons Philip and Paul, my grandsons Mark and David, and all of my family and friends.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  To the many people who have written to say how much they have enjoyed my books I send my sincere gratitude.

  I get a lot of pleasure from writing, and to know that my books are read and appreciated by so many is an added bonus. All the letters I receive have one thing in common: their warmth and friendliness – just like the characters I love to write about.

  Thank you, once again, for writing to me and I hope you will continue to enjoy my books.

  Chapter One

  ‘Ma, will yer stop fussin’ around, yer gettin’ on me nerves.’ Molly Bennett clicked her tongue. ‘The house ’as been done from top to bottom, yer can eat yer dinner off the flamin’ floor, but yer still not satisfied.’

  ‘Isn’t it natural, now, that I’d want the place lookin’ nice for yer da comin’ out of hospital?’ Bridie Jackson’s Irish accent always became more pronounced when she was excited. ‘After ten weeks, yerself wouldn’t want him comin’ home to a midden, would yer now?’

  ‘A midden!’ Molly gazed around the living room of the small two-up two-down terraced house and smiled. It was like a little palace, with the furniture shining so bright you could see your face in it, the grate blackleaded and gleaming, and a glowing fire roaring up the chimney. And with the walls newly decorated in a light beige paper patterned with small sprigs of leaves and flowers, the room looked light and airy. It had been a rush for her husband, Jack, to get the room finished in time, because they’d only had three days’ notice that her da would be coming home. But over the weekend the whole family had got stuck in, scraping the walls, trimming the paper and helping with the pasting. It was midnight last night when they’d finished and stood back to admire their handiwork.

  ‘A midden, did yer say?’ Molly stood with her hands on her hips. ‘We’ve worked our fingers to the bone for the last three days, washing curtains and windows, scrubbing everything it’s possible to scrub, an’ yer still not happy. A flamin’ midden indeed!’

  Bridie walked to the sideboard, moved the vase of flowers a couple of inches, then changed her mind and moved it back again. ‘I’m so nervous and excited, yer’ll have to make allowances for me, so yer will.’ She touched her daughter’s arm. ‘Molly, me darlin’, I don’t know what I’d have done without you over the last few months. You, Jack, and the children, yer’ve kept me going, so yer have. I’d have been lost without you, and don’t I give thanks to the good Lord every night for blessing me with such a marvellous family?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ma, don’t go all soppy on me.’ Molly was trying hard to keep her emotions in check. ‘With Da comin’ out of hospital, we should be singin’, not cryin’ our eyes out.’

  Bridie straightened her shoulders. She was a fine-looking woman, with a face that was still beautiful, even with the worry lines that had grown deeper each day since her beloved husband, Bob, had had a heart attack. She had a slim, almost girlish figure, and her hair, snow white now, was combed straight back from her face and rolled into a bun at the nape of her neck. ‘Will we have time for a cuppa an’ a sandwich before the ambulance comes?’

  Molly
glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘They said sometime in the afternoon, an’ it’s only twelve o’clock, so there’s plenty of time.’

  There was a hissing noise from the fire before a piece of coal fell on to the hearth. Bridie moved as though she’d been shot from a gun. She grabbed the shovel and brush from the brass companion set and swept up the offending piece of coal to throw it back on the fire. ‘Will yer look at that now?’ She viewed with disgust the black sooty mark left on the hearth. ‘Just when yer think everything’s right, something always comes along to prove yer wrong, so it does.’

  With a resigned shrug of her shoulders, Molly made her way to the kitchen for the floor-cloth. When she came back there was a cheeky grin on her face. ‘Here yer are, Ma.’

  Bridie, on her knees in front of the grate, turned to take the cloth from her daughter’s outstretched hand and noticed the grin. ‘What’s tickling yer fancy now, lass?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Molly let the smile slip from her face. ‘I was just wondering if yer’d like me to take me tea an’ sarnies down the yard to the lavvy to eat, save makin’ any crumbs?’

  Bridie threw the cloth down and fell back on her heels. ‘Sure now, wouldn’t that be a pretty sight for sore eyes?’

  The sound of a motor outside brought Bridie scrambling to her feet and rushing to the window. ‘He’s here, Molly!’ She let the curtain fall back into place. ‘Bob’s home!’

  ‘All right, Ma, just calm down!’ Molly held on to her mother’s arm and wagged a finger in her face. ‘Remember what the doctor said, no upset or excitement.’

  Bridie nodded as she wrenched her arm free and bolted down the hall to open the front door. She was waiting by the kerb when the back doors of the ambulance opened and Bob stepped out. Her arms outstretched, she flew to him. ‘Welcome home, me darling.’

  Bob held her close while the ambulance men looked on. One of them, a man with sandy hair and laughing blue eyes, said, ‘It looks as though someone’s glad to see you, Mr Jackson.’

  Bridie beamed at him. ‘’Tis more than glad I am, son.’

  Molly had been watching the scene with a lump in her throat. Now she moved forward and touched her mother on the shoulder. ‘Move over, missus, an’ let someone else get a look in.’

  Too full of emotion to speak, Bob smiled as Molly rained kisses on his face. There’d been times in the hospital when he thought he wasn’t going to pull through, so the sight of his beloved wife standing outside the little house that held so many happy memories, brought tears to sting the back of his eyes.

  ‘I think we’d better move out of the way so these men can get about their business.’ Molly winked at the two men who were waiting patiently to close the doors of the ambulance. ‘Make yer sick, wouldn’t it? Married over forty years and still love struck.’

  The man with the sandy hair called, ‘Take care of yourself, Mr Jackson.’

  ‘Huh!’ Molly watched her parents disappear into the house. ‘No need to worry about me da lookin’ after himself, she won’t let the wind blow on him. Anyway, thanks, lads.’

  When Molly walked into the living room, Bridie was helping Bob out of his coat. ‘Now sit yourself by the fire while I make yer a nice cup of tea. The kettle’s been on the boil for an hour, so it’ll not take long.’

  Molly took the overcoat from her mother. ‘I’ll hang it up, you see to the tea.’

  Bob fell back in his favourite chair, pleasure and relief on his face. ‘You’ve no idea how good it is to be home, lass, these ten weeks have seemed like a lifetime.’ He gazed around the room. ‘Been busy, I see.’

  Molly could hear her mother pottering around in the kitchen. ‘She’s had everyone up the wall, rushin’ around like blue-arsed flies to make sure everythin’ was perfect for yer coming home.’ She patted his knee and smiled. ‘Anyone would think she was expectin’ the King himself.’

  ‘It looks nice, lass, and I’m grateful for everythin’ yer’ve done for Ma while I’ve been away. You and Jack, and the children, have all been marvellous.’ He swallowed hard. ‘It can’t have been easy for her, the first time we’ve been parted since the day we got married.’

  ‘I know that, Da, an’ I know yez love the bones of each other. But don’t let her kill yer with kindness. If Ma has her way, yer’ll be sittin’ in that chair all day while she waits on yer hand an’ foot. An’ that’s not goin’ to do yer any good. I know what the doctor said, that yer can’t go back to work and yer’ve got to take things easy. But he also said that if yer were sensible, there was no reason why yer couldn’t live a normal life. So don’t let Ma molly-coddle yer too much.’

  Bridie bustled in, carrying a wooden tray covered with a hand-embroidered cloth and set with a china tea pot, milk jug and sugar basin. ‘You’ll enjoy this, me darlin’, so yer will. A nice cup of strong tea, just the way yer like it.’

  ‘I won’t stay, Ma.’ Molly stood up. ‘Mary from over the road said she’d pick Ruthie up from school when she went for Bella, but I don’t want to play on her goodness. Besides, I’ve got dinner to see to.’

  ‘Will Jack an’ the children be coming round tonight?’ Bob asked. ‘It seems ages since I saw the kids.’

  ‘Not tonight, Da.’ Molly shook her head. ‘They wanted to, but I said they’d have to wait a day or two, till yer got settled in, like.’

  Bob looked disappointed. ‘I was looking forward to seeing them.’

  ‘Yer’ve only just come out of hospital, Da, yer don’t want to be tiring yerself out.’ Molly bent to kiss him. ‘I’ll come in the morning, see how yer are. If me ma thinks it’s okay, the whole gang can come tomorrow night, but just for half an hour, mind yer! Yer still an invalid, so there’ll be no knees-up or jars out.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘We’ll wait till next week for that.’

  Bridie was about to object when she realised her daughter was only joking. ‘Will I ever get used to your humour?’ She tutted. ‘Sure, I nearly fell for that one, right enough.’ She busied herself with the cups on the tray. ‘Now will yer be on yer way before the tea gets cold.’

  Molly winked at her father. ‘Did yer hear that, Da? She’s worked me to a standstill, but now she doesn’t need me any more it’s a case of “on yer bike, pal”!’

  Bob chuckled. ‘Now I know I’m home.’

  ‘Has she behaved herself?’ Molly clutched her daughter’s hand. ‘Not been givin’ yer any lip?’

  ‘No, she’s been as good as gold.’ Mary Watson leaned against the door jamb. Her house was right opposite Molly’s, and their seven-year-old daughters were the best of mates. ‘How’s yer dad?’

  ‘He looks well,’ Molly answered, tightening her grip on Ruthie, who was pulling to get away. ‘But yer can never tell with a heart complaint, can yer? He looked the picture of health five minutes before he had the heart attack, so as I say, yer can never tell. Looks can be deceiving.’

  ‘Mam, let go, yer hurtin’ me,’ Ruthie cried, stamping her foot. ‘I want to go ’ome and get me hoop.’

  ‘Molly, why don’t yer leave her here till yer get the dinner on?’ Mary offered. ‘She can play upstairs with Bella.’

  Molly looked down into her daughter’s pixie-like face, and when she noted the petulant droop to the rosebud mouth, Mary’s offer was too tempting to resist. ‘Are yer sure yer don’t mind? I’ve been at it since early this mornin’ and I’m not in any mood for her shenanigans.’

  ‘Come on, Ruthie.’ Mary held her hand out. ‘You and Bella can play tiddly-winks.’

  Molly turned to cross the road. ‘Yer a pal, Mary. I’ll give her a shout when the dinner’s ready.’

  The gas plopped when Molly put a match to it, and she quickly put the pan of potatoes on the ring. There was meat and cabbage over from yesterday, so she only had to warm it up to have with the potatoes. She was bending down to get the frying pan out of a cupboard when there was a loud ran-tan on the knocker. ‘Ye gods and little fishes!’ Molly said aloud, closing her eyes. ‘Is there no flamin’ peace for the wicked?’

&n
bsp; ‘Hiya, Molly, I’ve been lookin’ out for yer.’

  ‘Oh, thank God it’s only you. Come on in.’ Molly pressed herself back against the wall to let her eighteen-stone neighbour pass. Nellie McDonough lived three doors away, and she was Molly’s oldest and best friend.

  Nellie waddled down the hall, her hips brushing the wall either side. ‘How’s yer dad?’

  ‘He looks fine, just the same as when yer saw him in hospital last week. I’m slippin’ round in the mornin’, if yer’d like to come an’ see him.’

  ‘Ooh, yeah, I’d like that, girl!’ A smile crossed Nellie’s chubby face. ‘I’ve got some news for yer.’

  Molly pulled two chairs away from the table. ‘Take the weight off yer feet, but I haven’t got long, mind, ’cos I’ve been out since early this mornin’ and I’ll have to tidy up before the family get in.’

  The chair creaked ominously as Nellie sat down and Molly held her breath. One of these days her friend would end up on the floor on her backside, a broken chair beneath her. ‘Well, what’s the news?’

  Nellie adjusted the turban on her head before folding her arms under her mountainous bosom. ‘D’yer know that empty house at the top of the street, the one the Culshaws did a midnight flit from on Christmas Eve?’

  ‘Yeah, what about it?’

  ‘A family moved in there this mornin’.’ Nellie was rewarded by Molly’s look of surprise. ‘The cart came just after you’d left to go to yer ma’s.’

  ‘Go’way!’ Molly’s fingers were making patterns in the plush of the chenille tablecloth. ‘It’s a wonder the rent man didn’t say anythin’. Mind you, I haven’t seen Mr Henry for weeks, you’ve been payin’ me rent.’ Molly’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re losin’ yer grip, aren’t yer? Fancy not gettin’ that news out of him!’

  ‘Humph!’ Nellie jerked her head back, sending her layers of chins swaying in all directions. ‘I don’t ’ave time to stand gossipin’ to the flamin’ rent man! Got more to do with me time.’

  ‘Ah, well, yer see, look what yer’ve missed by not spendin’ a few minutes gossipin’ with him! If yer’d known they were moving in, yer could have taken a chair up an’ sat outside, makin’ a note of what furniture went in, an’ how many were in the family. Then yer could ’ave passed the information on to me.’ Molly could picture the scene in her mind and her tummy started to rumble with laughter. ‘Fine mate you are, Nellie McDonough! Now we’ll never know what they’ve got in their ’ouse.’ The movement of the floorboards beneath her feet warned Molly that laughter was going to erupt from her friend’s mouth any second. And when Nellie laughed, the whole house would shake. She stood up quickly and rounded the table. ‘Come on, missus, off that chair before yer break the bloody thing.’