MB01 - Stay In Your Own Back Yard Read online

  Stay

  In Your Own

  Back Yard

  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 9197 4

  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

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  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 darling husband Tony

  who was my prop, my friend

  and my love

  Chapter One

  ‘I wish I knew what she wants me for.’ Molly realised she was talking aloud and turned her head quickly to make sure there was no one around. ‘I’ll be getting locked up one of these days, talkin’ to meself.’

  She gripped one of the round iron end posts of the railing before her and surveyed the single-storey council school. Since her daughter, Jill, had come home yesterday with a note saying the headmistress wanted to see Molly, she had been a bag of nerves. If it had been her other daughter, Doreen, or her son Tommy who’d brought the letter home she’d have known it meant bad news ’cos they were a right pair of scallywags. Always in trouble for one thing or another, getting the cane in school for being cheeky or fighting with the other kids in the street. But Jill was different, never caused her a moment’s worry. Her school report was always good, and she never fell out of friends with anyone. So what the headmistress wanted to see Molly for was a mystery.

  She looked down at her old coat which was frayed around the button holes and cuffs. It had been blue when she bought it, but now it had faded so much it was hard to tell what colour it was supposed to be. And when her eyes travelled down to her scruffy shoes, she let out a deep sigh. For all the polish and elbow grease, they still looked like something the rag man would turn up his nose at. Still, they were all she had so it was a case of Hobson’s choice.

  Her gaze moved to the hand gripping the railing, and the ring of white skin on the third finger of her left hand. For the first time in her married life, she’d pawned her wedding ring. If Jack found out, there’d be merry hell to pay. But what else could she have done? She didn’t have a pair of stockings to her name, and she certainly wasn’t going to let her daughter down by turning up with bare legs. Being poor didn’t mean they had no pride.

  Reminding herself to keep her ringless finger out of sight, Molly took a deep breath, muttering, ‘Don’t know what I’m gettin’ all worked up about, she can’t eat me.’

  Straightening her shoulders and holding her head high, she marched through the school gates and across the playground. Molly had a bonny figure, not fat but padded in all the right places, and she moved now with an easy grace that belied the apprehension she felt.

  The corridors were empty when she entered the building but she knew where Miss Bond’s office was, and made her way towards it.

  ‘Sit down, Mrs Bennett.’ The headmistress waved her to a chair on the other side of her desk. She was a tall angular woman with steel grey hair combed back from her face and coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She had a stern face, and looking at her beneath lowered lids, Molly thought, it’s no wonder all the kids are scared stiff of her. Her face is enough to frighten the living daylights out of anyone!

  Miss Bond took some papers from a side drawer of her desk and laid them in front of her. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Jill.’

  ‘Why?’ Molly sat forward. ‘What’s she been up to?’

  The ghost of a smile crossed Miss Bond’s face. ‘Nothing wrong, I can assure you. Jill is one of the best pupils we’ve ever had. Sh
e’s always polite, pleasant, and very diligent.’ She picked up the top sheet of paper from the pile and handed it to Molly. ‘This is her school report, which you’ll be getting when she leaves school next month. As you will see, she came top of the class in every subject.’

  The words on the paper swam before Molly’s eyes. She looked at them because she knew it was expected of her, but her mind was still asking why she was here. She raised her head. ‘Our Jill’s always been bright, right from when she was a toddler.’

  ‘She’s more than bright, Mrs Bennett, she’s a very clever girl. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I think Jill should go on from here to a high school.’

  ‘A high school!’ Molly’s jaw dropped. ‘But she’ll be fourteen! Everyone goes to work when they’re fourteen.’

  Miss Bond leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. ‘Not everyone has Jill’s brains. She’s a very intelligent girl, and with the right education she could go far. It would be such a waste to send someone as bright as she is to work in a corner shop or a factory.’

  ‘A factory job was good enough for me,’ Molly said, her face red. ‘It didn’t do me no ’arm. An’ her dad works in a factory.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to sound patronising,’ Miss Bond replied. ‘But I don’t think you understand how gifted your daughter is. I’ve been teaching for thirty years now, and Jill is one of the most promising girls I have ever taught. With the right education, she could go far.’

  ‘And where’s the money comin’ from?’ Molly asked, thinking the woman must have lost the run of her senses. Did she think they were millionaires or something?

  ‘If you agree, we could try to get her a free scholarship. She would have no trouble passing the entrance exam.’ Miss Bond knew she was asking a lot from a family who were hard put to make ends meet, but she had to try. Jill Bennett had it in her to make something of herself, to get out of the poverty trap that her parents and all their neighbours were in. ‘The only money you would need to provide would be for her uniform and books.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Molly couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. Then she lowered her head, and gazing at her clasped hands told herself to keep that quick temper of hers in check. ‘Miss Bond, we don’t ’ave money to spare. My ’usband brings in two pounds fifteen shillings a week, and that’s with workin’ all the hours God sends. Out of that I ’ave to pay the rent, gas and coal, and feed and clothe the six of us. I get me money on a Saturday, an’ by Tuesday I don’t ’ave two ha’pennies to rub together. We live on tick from the corner shop until pay day, then we start all over again.’

  ‘Will you at least think about it, and talk it over with your husband? It would be such a waste if Jill weren’t given the opportunity to make use of the talents she’s been blessed with.’

  Molly’s eyes narrowed. ‘Does our Jill know about this? I don’t want yer fillin’ her head with impossible dreams, an’ then ’er blamin’ us for keepin’ her back.’

  Miss Bond shook her head. ‘I haven’t spoken to Jill about it. But I beg you to give it some thought, talk it over with your husband and see what he says.’

  Molly put her hands on the arms of the chair and levered herself up. ‘All the talkin’ in the world won’t change things. I’ve been waitin’ for our Jill to leave school, lookin’ forward to havin’ an extra few bob comin’ in.’

  Molly looked at the headmistress’s good quality warm dress and sturdy shoes, and wondered if she had any idea what it was like to try to feed and clothe six of them on the money Jack brought home. She didn’t look as though she’d ever known hard times.

  Miss Bond held the door open. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but please think it over.’

  ‘I could think about it until kingdom come, but it wouldn’t make any difference.’ Molly gave a deep sigh. ‘I know yer’ve only got Jill’s interests at heart, an’ I thank yer for that. If our circumstances were different I’d be only too happy to do anythin’ to help ’er and me other children, ’cos they mean the whole world to me an’ my ’usband. But as things are, we’ve barely enough money comin’ in to put clothes on their backs an’ food in their stomachs. I need Jill working and bringin’ in a wage every week, not for luxuries but for survival.’

  Molly could feel the headmistress’s eyes on her back as she walked down the corridor and forced herself to move slowly. But as soon as she was through the main door she took to her heels and ran across the playground, tears streaming down her face. She kept up the pace until she was out of breath and pains in her chest forced her to slow down. Her tummy was churning with a mixture of despair and humiliation, and she felt like being sick.

  Molly dashed a hand across her eyes. She’d never felt so worthless in her life. When she’d told Miss Bond they were too poor to send Jill to high school she was only telling the truth. But it didn’t stop her feeling guilty that their circumstances were going to prevent her daughter from having the start in life she deserved.

  Then the anger in Molly answered back. I should never have been put in that position! As though I was to blame! Surely to God the woman should be more understanding, seeing as all the kids attending that school are from working-class families, some of them without a decent pair of shoes on their feet. Perhaps she hadn’t meant to sound as though she was blaming Molly for holding her daughter back, but to Molly’s ears that’s just the way it did sound. As she walked in the direction of home an argument raged in her head.

  ‘Bein’ poor isn’t somethin’ to be ashamed of,’ she muttered aloud, bringing a startled look to the face of a woman passing in the opposite direction. ‘Half the people in the country are as poor as we are . . . some are even worse off! She ’ad no right to make me feel guilty, as though I don’t want what’s best for me own daughter. As if I wouldn’t give ’er the world if it was in me power! But I can’t just pluck money out of thin air. And I don’t ’ave a magic wand to wave, or a fairy godmother to grant me three wishes, so it’s no good me cryin’ me eyes out and gettin’ all upset. Fate deals the cards and we didn’t get a winning hand, that’s the top an’ bottom of it.’

  ‘Has she been behavin’ herself? Not givin’ yer any lip?’

  ‘She’s been fine.’ Mary Watson had been minding Molly’s four-year-old daughter, Ruthie. ‘We’ve been playin’ snap all afternoon.’

  ‘I won, Mam!’ Ruthie threw her arms around Molly’s waist. ‘I won nearly all the games.’

  ‘Yer cheated,’ Bella Watson said, her tiny mouth pursed. She was the same age as Ruthie, and when they weren’t fighting they were the best of friends. ‘Yer hid cards under the table.’

  ‘Don’t be tellin’ tales out of school,’ Mary laughed. ‘Yer both as bad as one another.’ She looked hard at Molly, noting the red-rimmed eyes. ‘How did yer get on?’

  ‘All right!’ Molly wasn’t in the mood for confidences. ‘It was just to tell me our Jill’s done very well, top of the class in everythin’.’

  Molly turned to her daughter and was just in time to see her raise her hand and smack Bella across the face. ‘You little faggot!’ She bent and delivered a resounding slap across Ruthie’s legs. ‘Honest, I need eyes in me backside with you.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Ruthie hopped up and down, rubbing her leg. ‘She ’it me first.’

  Molly groaned and raised her eyes to the sky. ‘Flippin’ kids! Who’d ’ave ’em?’ She grabbed her daughter’s hand. ‘Say yer sorry to Bella, and thank Auntie Mary for mindin’ yer.’

  Ruthie lowered her head, her toes scuffing the pavement. ‘She ’it me first.’

  ‘Skip it, Molly,’ said Mary. ‘They’re both as bad as one another.’ She folded her arms. ‘Yer haven’t seen anythin’ of Miss Clegg, have yer?’

  Molly looked puzzled. ‘No, why?’

  ‘I haven’t seen hide nor hair of ’er for three days and I’m gettin’ worried. Usually I see her a couple of times a day, either standin’ at the door or in the yard, but for the last three days I haven’t set eyes on her. I’ve tr
ied knockin’ on her door, and on the wall, but there’s no answer.’

  ‘Have yer tried the back door?’

  Mary nodded. ‘It’s locked.’

  Molly walked the few steps to next door and banged hard on the knocker. Then she lifted the letter box and yelled, ‘Miss Clegg!’ After a few minutes she walked back to Mary. ‘Yer’ve got me worried now.’ Mary’s neighbour was eighty-two, a lovely old lady who was popular with everyone in the street. ‘We’d better do somethin’, ’cos at her age anythin’ could ’ave happened.’

  ‘I’ve thought of everythin’, Molly, and don’t know what more I can do.’

  ‘Well, we can’t just stand by an’ do nothin’.’ Molly was feeling uneasy. She was very fond of the old lady who was like a grandmother to all the kids in the street. ‘When our Tommy comes ’ome from school, I’ll get ’im to climb over ’er yard wall and open the entry door for us. With a bit of luck ’er kitchen door might be unlocked.’

  Tommy gazed at the wall, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. ‘I’ll easy get over there.’

  Molly and Mary gaped as he pressed his back against the opposite wall, then with his arms high above his head, took a running jump. Before they had time to take in what was happening he was sitting astride the top of Miss Clegg’s wall, then he swung his body round and jumped down.

  ‘My God, he’s done that a few times,’ Molly said. ‘No wonder he’s never got an arse in ’is kecks or soles on ’is shoes.’

  Tommy opened the entry door with a flourish, a look of triumph on his face. ‘Easy-peasy.’

  Molly didn’t know whether to kiss him or give him a crack. Then she remembered she was the one who’d asked him to do it, so she could hardly blame him. ‘Come on, Mary, let’s see if the door’s open.’

  But the kitchen door was locked, and they looked at each other questioningly. ‘What now?’ asked Mary.

  Molly was already peering through the net curtains on the window, but the material was heavily patterned and she couldn’t see anything. ‘Tommy, come and stand on this sill an’ see if yer can get the top of the window down.’ He hopped on to the sill, thinking it was getting more exciting all the time. With his mother’s hands supporting him, he looked through the glass pane. ‘The window’s not locked, I can see the catch.’