Taking a Chance on Love

  Taking A Chance

  On Love

  Joan Jonker

  Copyright © 2001 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 9033 5

  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

  Foreword

  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 – a period that Joan remembers so well – when she met and fell in love with her late husband, Tony, while out with friends at Liverpool’s St George’s Hotel in Lime Street.

  For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, but she has recently retired from charity work in order to concentrate on her writing. Joan has two sons and two grandsons and she lives in Southport, where she is busy working on her next bestselling saga. Her previous novels of life in Liverpool’s backstreets have won her legions of fans throughout the world:

  ‘You’ve done it again! Molly and Nellie are so funny, I love the bones of them. More please’ Jean Breward, Norfolk

  ‘I wish you could write a book every month. Your books are wonderful’ Ann Hardie, Stockton

  ‘Joan, the trouble with your books is that once I start I can’t put them down’ Paula Berridge, Leics

  ‘All of your books have the power to make me laugh no matter how I feel. Looking forward to the next one’ Emily Baker, Bucks

  ‘Your sense of humour and knowledge of the old Liverpool is unsurpassed by any other writer’ Judy Down, New Zealand

  ‘Being an ex-Scouser, I find your books thoroughly enjoyable’ Norma Holborow, Western Australia

  ‘Absolutely wonderful’ Jean Bowers, Canada

  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

  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 Last Dance Is Over

  The Sunshine Of Your Smile

  Three Little Words

  I’ll Be Your Sweetheart

  Non-fiction

  Victims of Violence

  To old friends from my teenager years. I knew them then as

  Tommy Seymour, Nita Williams, Doreen Halliday,

  Letty Kennedy and Wendy Teague.

  True friendship lasts for ever.

  Dear Readers

  This book is written with you in mind. From your letters, I have come to know what you enjoy and what makes you laugh and cry, and in this book, I have tried to give you these in equal measure. I think I have succeeded.

  Happy reading.

  You take care now.

  Love Joan

  Chapter One

  ‘Mam, can I go out for a bit, to see Joan? Just for a quarter of an hour before me dad comes in?’

  ‘Mrs Flynn won’t want yer being in the way while she’s seeing to the dinner, sunshine.’ Elizabeth Porter shook the white tablecloth she was holding before laying it over the table and running a hand over it to smooth out the creases. ‘Whatever it is yer want to talk about, it can’t be that important it won’t wait until we’ve all had our dinners.’

  ‘I won’t be in Mrs Flynn’s way, Mam, ’cos I won’t go in.’ Ginny Porter was fourteen years of age and the spitting image of her attractive mother: fair hair, blue eyes, a set of white, even teeth and a slim figure. ‘Me and Joan can talk outside.’

  ‘It’s freezing out there, yer’d be turned to blocks of ice in five minutes.’

  ‘Ah, go on, Mam, yer didn’t stop our Joey from going out.’ Ginny knew her mother would see how unfair it was to treat her differently from her brother. After all, she was thirteen months older and leaving school in two weeks. ‘As soon as I see me dad walking up the street I’ll come in.’

  Elizabeth, or Beth to her friends and neighbours, tutted. ‘Oh, all right, but get the knives and forks out of the drawer for me first. And when yer see yer dad, give our Joey a shout and tell him to come in pronto.’

  A few minutes later, Ginny was sounding the knocker on the house next door. She was hoping to see Joan’s face, but it was Mrs Flynn who opened the door. ‘Can Joan come out for a few minutes, Mrs Flynn, just until the dinner’s ready?’ Ginny asked.

  ‘It’s bleedin’ freezing out there, girl, come on in.’ Dot Flynn held the door wide. ‘Hurry up, I’m letting a draught in.’

  Ginny shook her head. ‘Me mam said I hadn’t got to get under yer feet, so could Joan come out, just for ten minutes?’

  ‘Oh, suit yerself, girl, it’s too bleedin’ cold to stand here arguing the fat. I’ll send our Joan out to yer.’ Dot was grinning as she shook her head. ‘The sooner you two leave school and get yerselves a job, the better.’

  Ginny chuckled. ‘We’ve already spent our first two weeks wages, Mrs Flynn. High heels and proper stockings, those are our first priority.’

  ‘I would have thought yer first priority would be getting yerselves a ruddy job! Yer have to work for money, yer know, girl, it doesn’t grow on trees, worse luck.’ Mrs Flynn turned her head and shouted in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, ‘Joan,
yer mate’s here! Get yerself well wrapped up ’cos it’s bitter outside.’

  ‘Why didn’t yer come in?’ Joan asked when she appeared, struggling into her coat. ‘Me mam doesn’t mind, yer know that.’

  ‘I know she doesn’t, but it’s not fair to have me hanging around when she’s busy. Anyway, it’s only for ten minutes, until me dad gets home from work.’

  The two girls leaned back against the wall of the two-up-two-down terraced house, their arms crossed over their chests and their hands tucked into their armpits for warmth. ‘Have yer thought any more about what Miss Jackson said today?’ Ginny asked. ‘You know, about what sort of work we’d like to do?’

  ‘I mentioned it to me mam, and she said Vernon’s is a good place to work. The only trouble is, yer have to work every Saturday night and I don’t know whether I fancy that or not.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d thought of that,’ Ginny said, bringing out a hand to rub her nose which was beginning to feel like a piece of ice. ‘The thing is, Joan, we won’t be able to pick and choose, we might have to take what comes along. A case of like it or lump it.’

  Joan had a high-pitched giggle, and it could be heard now in the silent street. ‘This is what me mam said.’ To do herself justice and really get into the part, the girl folded her arms and hitched up an imaginary bosom. ‘ “Just listen to me, my girl, and get it into that thick head of yours that not many people like their jobs, but they have to work to live. No one can live on bleedin’ fresh air and water, unless they’re a ruddy fish. Mind you, sometimes when ye’re sitting with yer mouth open, yer remind me of a fish.” ’ The impersonation was so good, Ginny was doubled up and her laughter encouraged Joan to carry on. ‘ “One of them fish what sit in the window of Harry Barlow’s fish shop. Flat out on a cold slab with its eyes and mouth wide open. Not a friend in the world and nothing to cover its modesty, poor bugger.” ’

  ‘She’s a scream is your mam,’ Ginny said. ‘I’m sure if we took her with us when we go for an interview she’d talk us into a job.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see how funny she is now. But I couldn’t when I was younger and getting a clip around the ear for giving her cheek. Ye’re dead right about her coming to the interview with us, though. They’d give us a job just to shut her up.’

  Ginny saw her dad passing the gas lamp at the corner of the street and moved away from the wall. ‘I’d better get in, me dad’s on his way. And we haven’t really got any further, have we? D’yer want to come to ours tonight and we can have a good natter?’

  Joan’s mind went to the fire that was roaring up their chimney, and the thought of leaving that to come out into the cold didn’t appeal, even though it was only next door. ‘No, you come to ours and I’ll show yer the scarf I’m knitting.’

  Ginny had already taken to her heels and shouted back, ‘Okay, see yer later.’ She carried on running past her own front door towards the father she idolised. Clinging to his arm, she smiled up at him. ‘Hi-ya, Dad.’

  ‘Hello, pet!’ Andy Porter was a really handsome man. Tall and well-built, he had raven black hair, deep brown eyes, strong white teeth and a marked cleft in his chin. ‘You should be at home in front of the fire in this weather.’

  ‘I know! I’ve only been out five minutes and me feet are like blocks of ice.’

  Andy turned his head when he heard running footsteps behind them. It was Joey, his thirteen-year-old son, and he was moving at such speed his father had no trouble guessing he was going to take a flying leap on to his back. ‘Move away, Ginny, before yer brother sends yer flying.’

  Joey paced himself perfectly. He took a running jump, wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and hung on like grim death until he felt his legs being supported from behind. ‘Hi-ya, Dad, how was work?’

  ‘I can’t tell yer right now, son, ’cos I’m being strangled.’

  ‘Get down, yer big soft ha’porth,’ Ginny said. ‘Ye’re too big now to be wanting a piggy-back. Besides which, me dad’s been working all day, he’s probably tired.’

  ‘I’m only thirty-seven, pet, not an old man yet.’ His white teeth flashing, Andy turned his head to say to the grinning boy, ‘I just hope yer grow out of it by the time ye’re twenty-one.’

  ‘I’ll be as big as you then, Dad, so I can give you a piggyback.’

  As they reached their house, the front door was opened and light streamed into the dark street. ‘Come on, hurry up.’ Beth shivered with the cold they brought in with them. ‘Take yer coats off and warm yerselves by the fire while I put the dinners out.’

  The children elbowed each other out of the way to be first to hang up their coat, thus allowing them to nab the best speck by the hearth. But after hanging his own coat up, Andy walked through to the kitchen. His wife was spooning mashed potato on to the four plates set out on the draining board. She smiled when he slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. ‘I’d rather warm meself on you than the fire,’ he said. ‘Yer give out more heat and send a warm glow right down me whole body.’

  ‘Go on, yer daft nit, the dinner will be stiff if I leave it out here much longer.’ But Beth’s heartbeat raced as it always did when the man she adored touched her. She’d fallen in love with him when she was sixteen and her feelings had grown deeper with each passing year. ‘Go and have a warm while I carry these plates through.’

  ‘What are we having to eat, Mam? I’m starving.’ Joey sniffed up and then grinned. ‘It’s me favourite – sausage and mash. Yummy, yummy, watch out tummy.’

  Beth, carrying two plates in each hand, put one down in front of each chair. ‘Anyone listening to you would think yer never got a decent meal. We might not get many luxuries but at least we’ve never gone hungry, which is more than a lot of people can say.’

  Andy picked up his knife and fork and cut into one of his two sausages before glancing down the table at his wife. ‘If it ever came to the push, where we had to live on dripping sandwiches, we’d still be lucky ’cos we can feast our eyes on the prettiest mother in the whole neighbourhood.’

  Ginny stopped chewing. ‘Ah, that was a lovely thing to say, Dad, it sounded dead romantic.’

  Joey pulled a face. ‘Yer mean it sounded dead soppy.’

  ‘Wait until yer get yerself a girlfriend, son,’ Andy said, ‘then yer won’t think it’s dead soppy to say nice things to her.’

  The boy spluttered. ‘Me! Get a girlfriend! I’m not ever going to have no girlfriend ’cos they never stop talking and they’re dead bossy.’

  ‘Thanks very much, son,’ Beth said, hiding a smile. ‘I didn’t realise I talked non-stop and was dead bossy.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean you, Mam! I’d have you for me girlfriend, any day. Only me dad got there before me.’

  Andy chuckled. ‘If I hadn’t, son, you wouldn’t be sitting here now eating yer favourite meal of sausage and mash. Yer could have ended up with a bad-tempered mother who looked like a witch, with a long hooked nose, hairs growing out of her chin and a broomstick standing under the stairs which she used to fly on every night when she went to meet other witches. She’d lock yer in yer bedroom when yer gave cheek and, on top of all that, she couldn’t cook for love nor money.’

  ‘Huh! I wouldn’t stay if I had a mam like that, I’d run away from home.’ Then Joey’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how he came to have such a lovely mother instead of a witch on a broomstick. ‘How could I have . . .’

  Beth could see the possibility of her son asking some awkward questions and she cut him short. ‘Can we have less talking, please, and get on with our dinner?’

  ‘I’m not talking, Mam, and I’ve nearly finished mine,’ Ginny said. ‘Will it be all right if I go to Joan’s after? Miss Jackson asked us today what sort of work we’d like to do when we leave, and we want to be able to tell her tomorrow instead of standing there looking stupid. That’s if we can make up our minds, like, ’cos although we’d like to work together, we might have different ideas.’

  ‘Yer might have to take w
hat’s on offer, pet,’ Andy said. ‘But if yer did have a choice, what would yer like to do?’

  ‘I keep changing me mind, Dad! But I think I’d rather work in a shop than a factory. Still, like yer said, we might have to take whatever’s going.’

  ‘It would be nice if you and Joan did get taken on at the same place, love,’ Beth said, ‘’cos yer’ve been mates all yer lives. But I don’t think it’s a good enough reason for taking on a job yer don’t really fancy. After all, living next door, yer’d be seeing Joan every night, so it’s not as though it would affect yer friendship.’

  ‘Yer mam’s right, pet, you go for whatever yer think is best for you, and Joan can do the same. And I think it might be best, anyway, not to be in each other’s pockets all the time. At least yer’d have plenty to talk about when yer did get together.’

  ‘Yeah, there is that to it.’ Ginny placed her knife and fork neatly in the centre of the empty plate. ‘I’ll take this out, Mam, and put the kettle on to wash the dishes. Or would yer rather I made a pot of tea, first?’

  Andy gave a quick reply. ‘Oh, tea first, pet, if yer don’t mind. I haven’t had a decent cuppa all day. I don’t know what they put in the pot at work, but it certainly doesn’t taste like tea.’

  ‘Tea it is, then.’ Ginny stood up and smiled at her mother. ‘You stay where yer are, Mam, I’ll see to it.’

  Joey, who favoured his father in looks, gave a broad wink. ‘I bet she won’t be saying that when she starts work. She’ll expect to be waited on hand and foot.’

  ‘Hey, watch it, you,’ Ginny said from the kitchen door. ‘Any cheek out of you and yer can forget about the comic I promised to buy yer every week.’

  But Joey knew his sister wouldn’t let him down, so he winked again. ‘See what I mean? She’s throwing her weight around already!’

  Ginny filled the kettle and put it on the stove before returning to the living room. ‘I won’t be throwing me weight around, brother dear, but the comic does come with certain strings attached.’

  Her brother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, aye? I knew there’d be a catch in it, that it was too good to be true. What’s the strings ye’re talking about?’