The Pride of Polly Perkins Read online

  ‘I threw it over the wall,’ Polly said, looking puzzled. ‘Honest, I did!’

  ‘Well, it’s not in the yard an’ me dad will belt me when he finds it’s missing.’ Steve’s eyes were troubled. ‘He didn’t get taken on at the docks this mornin’ so he said he’d go out with the handcart to try an’ earn a few bob. He needs the rope to help him pull the cart.’

  ‘Well, I definitely threw it over the wall,’ Polly insisted before glaring at Doreen and pushing her hand away. ‘Stop pullin’, will yer? If yer that worried, you run on an’ I’ll catch yer up.’

  ‘Yer’ll be late an’ yer’ll get the cane.’ Doreen hesitated. She didn’t like leaving her friend but the thought of holding her hand out and seeing the cane descend to inflict a pain that would last for hours, filled her with dread. ‘I’ll go on ’cos yer can run quicker than me.’ Neither Polly nor Steve noticed her running down the street as though the devil was on her heels.

  ‘Are yer sure it was our wall yer threw it over?’ Steve asked. ‘’Cos I’ve searched the yard an’ there’s no sign of it.’

  ‘I’m not daft, Steve Mitchell! I should know which is your wall by now, seein’ as it’s right next to ours.’ Polly was flummoxed. She didn’t know what to make of it, but she did know she couldn’t leave Steve to face the music on his own, not when she was the one who had coaxed him to lend them the rope in the first place. ‘Let’s go down the entry an’ I’ll show yer how I threw it.’

  ‘We’re both goin’ to be late for school,’ Steve grumbled as they walked side by side down the entry. ‘If me dad doesn’t get me first an’ knock me into the middle of next week, then it’ll be six of the best off Mr Grundy. I don’t know which would be the least painful.’

  ‘If they both get yer, yer’ll end up in ’ospital with both yer legs in plaster.’ When they stopped outside the Mitchells’ yard door, Polly raised her eyes to the top of the wall. A sudden grin lit up her face as she pointed a finger to where she could see a short piece of the rope hanging from the roof of the lavatory. ‘There yer are, Steve! That’s one place yer didn’t think of looking.’

  Steve let out a sigh of relief. ‘Put yer hands together an’ give us a leg up, Polly.’

  Bending her body forward, Polly laced her fingers. ‘Make it snappy, Steve, before someone catches us.’ She gritted her teeth while she took his full weight on the cradle she’d made of her hands, but she was determined not to cry out like a cissie.

  ‘Thank the Lord for that!’ Steve smiled as he wound the rope into a coil like he’d seen his dad do hundreds of times. ‘You get goin’, Polly. I’ll just tie this up and heave it over. I hope me mam and dad don’t happen to look out of the window when it sails over the wall.’

  ‘It’s all my fault an’ I’m sorry,’ Polly said before taking to her heels and running as fast as she could. By the time she turned into the street where her school was, her chest was burning and she was gasping for breath. It crossed her mind that Doreen must have made it because there was no sign of her, but she groaned inwardly when she saw Mr Grundy’s head appear over the iron gates. His eyes narrowed as he watched her running towards him. She was within a few yards of the gates when he slammed them shut, bringing tears of anger to Polly’s eyes.

  ‘That’s not fair, Mr Grundy, it’s only nine o’clock.’

  ‘Don’t be impudent, girl!’ The headmaster’s nostrils flared. ‘You will stay here until after prayers, then you’re to go straight to Miss Wilton’s office to receive your punishment.’

  Polly heard running footsteps and turned her head to see Steve come up behind her. Shaking her head in disbelief, and for a moment forgetting Mr Grundy’s reputation for cruelty, she blurted out, ‘He shut the gate in me face! He’s dead mean, that’s what he is!’

  Steve’s eyes darted from Polly to Mr Grundy, and the look of anger on the headmaster’s face caused him to say softly, ‘All right, Polly, just leave it.’

  ‘Keep a still tongue in your head, boy!’ The man ran a finger round the inside of his stiff collar. His wife had been heavy on the starch and it was digging into his neck, restricting the movement of his Adam’s apple. His discomfort had put him in a foul temper and he vowed he would have strong words for his wife when he got home. Until then, providence had seen fit to send him two late-comers to vent his anger on. His view of children was that they should be seen and not heard, and they should, without question, be obedient to their elders at all times. Well, it was up to the headmistress, Miss Wilton, to chastise the girl, but he’d get a good deal of satisfaction out of punishing the boy. After six strokes of the cane he wouldn’t be so cocky.

  ‘You will both stay there until the caretaker comes to let you in.’ He pointed to Steve. ‘You, boy, will go straight to my office, and you, girl, will go to Miss Wilton’s. I’ll tell her to expect you and I will report your insolence to her.’

  Polly had the sense to wait until his back was turned and he was walking away from them before she stuck out her tongue. ‘He’s the most horrible man in the whole world an’ I hate him.’ But for all her show of spirit she was worried. Her mam would go mad if she knew she’d got the cane for being naughty and Polly didn’t want to pile any more trouble on to Ada when she had her plate full with her dad being sick. ‘I’m not goin’ to tell me mam if we get the cane, so don’t let on, Steve, will yer?’

  ‘Nah! I never tell the old girl when I get the cane ’cos she’d only say I must’ve done somethin’ to deserve it an’ she’d give me a clip around the ears.’

  Polly sniffed up her tears and managed a half-smile. ‘It’ll be our secret, then – eh, Steve? That’s what real mates are for, isn’t it? To tell their secrets to each other?’

  ‘Yeah, Polly, that’s what real mates are for.’ Steve looked down at the pavement. If the expression on old Grundy’s face was anything to go by, he was really in for it. Still, the caning would be over in five minutes, even if the pain lasted all day. He’d just have to grin and bear it … but he’d make sure he was on time tomorrow. There was no point in asking for trouble.

  ‘If you could just give me some medicine for me cough, Doctor, I’ll be fine.’ Tommy’s breathing was laboured, his face grey. ‘It’ll pass off in a day or two, it always does.’

  ‘Mr Perkins, you are a sick man and you should never have come here today. You should have sent for me.’ Dr Rigby’s kind blue eyes clouded over. The man sitting across the desk from him was a consumptive if ever he’d seen one. And he sensed that Tommy Perkins knew how ill he was, but he wouldn’t give into it because he couldn’t afford the luxury of being ill. Like most people in the area, the family were living from hand to mouth on the meagre wages Tommy brought in. If those wages stopped, it would be the poor-house for them. But even as these thoughts crossed his mind, he knew he couldn’t just give the man a bottle of cough medicine and allow him to go back to work until he died on his feet. During all those years of training to become a doctor his one aim had been to help people live healthy lives, not to help them die. ‘I’d like you to go to the hospital for a check-up.’

  There was a flicker of fear in Tommy’s eyes as he shook his head. ‘I can’t do that, Dr Rigby. I can’t afford to take any time off work. I’ve got a wife an’ two kids to provide for, and even with me workin’ we have a struggle to keep our heads above water.’

  The anger rising within the medical man wasn’t against Tommy; it was against the unfairness of a society where the rich prospered and the poor became poorer. Most of the people who came to his surgery wouldn’t need his help if they had a decent standard of living. How could they be healthy when they weren’t able to feed their families as they should be fed? Kids were running around barefoot, no food in their bellies, no fire in their grate and no warm clothes to their backs. And their parents were old before their time, bowed down with worry and despair.

  John Rigby let out a deep sigh. ‘If you don’t get yourself seen to soon, you’ll be too ill to go to work – and where would that leave your
wife and children?’ He dropped his eyes to avoid seeing the haunted look of hopelessness on the face of the man sitting opposite him. ‘Look, I understand your position, Mr Perkins, but as your doctor I have to be straight with you. A bottle of cough mixture isn’t the answer to your problem, and you know it as well as I do. You need to see a specialist as soon as possible.’

  Tommy dropped his head to stare at the flat cap he was holding in his hands. He knew in his heart that the doctor was right, and in an ideal world he wouldn’t hesitate to go to the hospital and get himself seen to. But it wasn’t an ideal world.

  He raised his eyes and in a low voice said, ‘I hear and understand what yer sayin’, Doctor, an’ I appreciate yer bein’ straight with me. But there’s no way I can take any time off work to go to the hospital, not just now, anyway. But if you’ll just give me a bottle of cough mixture to ease me throat, I’ll make yer a promise to come back, say in a couple of weeks, an’ yer can make arrangements for me to see a specialist.’

  ‘If you have no money now, what makes you think your circumstances will change in a few weeks?’ John Rigby’s voice was sharper than he intended and he mentally chastised himself. The poor man had no more control over his life than the man in the moon. ‘Look, why don’t you talk it over with your wife? It affects her, so it’s only right she should know what the situation is. It would be very wrong to keep her in the dark.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with her, Doctor.’ Tommy felt as though the room was closing in on him and he desperately needed to get some fresh air in his lungs. ‘Can I have the cough mixture, please?’

  The doctor sighed as he pushed his chair back. ‘Yes, but it’s against my better judgement, Mr Perkins. I can’t force you to do anything, but I will stress that you need treatment as soon as possible.’

  Tommy nodded his head. At that moment he would have promised anything just to get the bottle of mixture so the story he intended telling Ada would sound genuine.

  Ada was peering through the net curtains when she saw Tommy walking up on the opposite side of the street and she had the door open before he had time to raise his hand to the knocker. ‘I’d almost given yer up, yer’ve been ages!’

  ‘There were a few people there ahead of me so I had to wait me turn. If yer didn’t have a cold before yer went there, yer’d certainly have one when yer came out, what with all the coughing an’ spluttering.’

  ‘How did yer get on?’ Ada held out her hand to take his coat. ‘What did Dr Rigby have to say?’

  Tommy held out the bottle of dark red syrupy medicine. ‘He said I’ve got a bad case of bronchitis, but this should help.’

  Ada tore her eyes away from his and turned to take his coat into the hall. He’s keeping something from me, she told herself as tears threatened. I’ve lived with him too long not to know when he’s lying, and right now he’s lying through his teeth. She screwed her eyes up tight and shivered as the blood in her veins ran cold. He was lying to protect her from worry and she loved him for it. But she wasn’t stupid, she knew that her husband was suffering from something worse than bronchitis. And she also knew the bottle of medicine he’d brought home was only a blind.

  Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Ada returned to the living room. It was no good discussing it now, not with young Joey listening to every word. Better wait until the kids were in bed, then she could try and worm the truth out of him. If he still stuck to the same story, then rather than upset him, she’d go and see Dr Rigby on the sly. Because, whatever the future held for her Tommy she intended to stand by his side and they’d face it together.

  Chapter Two

  Ada kicked angrily at a small stone and watched it bounce ahead of her, hitting the concrete path a few times before coming to rest on the grass verge. She paused outside the gates and looked back at the large double-fronted house which was both the doctor’s private residence and his surgery. When she’d walked up the path half an hour earlier there’d been a glimmer of hope in her heart that she was worrying unduly, making a mountain out of a molehill. Now that hope had been extinguished and her worry had turned to fear. Not that Dr Rigby had told her much; he wouldn’t commit himself on what he thought was wrong with Tommy, but then doctors never did commit themselves, did they? It was more than they dare do, in case they were wrong. But the little she’d been able to get out of him was enough to set the alarm bells off. Her husband was a sick man who needed treatment now. The two of them should sit down and discuss how they could manage for him to take time off work, and they should do it soon because the longer they left it, the worse it would be. The doctor hadn’t been abrupt; in fact, he’d been kind and understanding. But no matter how kind he’d been it didn’t alter the fact that Tommy was a very sick man and they were in trouble.

  Taking a deep breath, Ada pushed her clenched fists deep into her pockets and started to walk in the direction of home. A lone tear ran down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. How could she explain red-rimmed eyes to Dolly Mitchell, who was minding Joey for her? She’d told her neighbour she was nipping to T. J. Hughes’ to see if they had any cheap working socks for Tommy, and while Dolly would believe her if she came back empty-handed, saying they were too dear, she wouldn’t see it as something to cry about.

  Ada bent her head and quickened her pace as her mind ticked over. They had to think of some way that Tommy could get the treatment he needed. But as with everything else, it all boiled down to money, the root of all evil. She would willingly go out to work to earn a few bob, but who would look after Joey? And even if she got a job, women were very poorly paid and she wouldn’t earn enough to keep them. Tommy’s wages barely covered the necessities, she was living from hand to mouth every week, so God help them if they had to rely on her bringing enough in. If only Polly was two years older she’d be leaving school in a couple of months and finding herself a job. With her earning, and Ada with a little job, they could just about manage.

  Ada sighed. Wishing her daughter’s life away wasn’t going to help. But they had to find a solution or God knows what would happen to Tommy. She loved him too much to just stand by and watch him work himself to death for the sake of his family.

  Two tears escaped to run down her cheeks and she was so busy wiping them away as she turned the corner of the street, that she missed seeing the woman coming in the opposite direction until she bumped into her.

  ‘Glory be to God, Ada Perkins, is it meself yer after killing?’

  Ada managed a smile for the woman who was struggling to steady the huge basket she carried on her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, I was miles away.’

  ‘Miles away, was it?’ Mary, head slightly back and eyes rolled upwards, slowly took one hand from the heavy wicker basket, twisted her head slightly until she felt her burden was safely anchored, then she lowered both her arms. ‘Sure wasn’t it another world altogether yer were in, Ada, me darlin’?’

  ‘Well, you were the last person I’d expect to bump into,’ Ada said. ‘What are yer doin’ home this time of day?’

  ‘I’m happy to be tellin’ yer that I sold out in two hours, so I did. It was a day when the whole of Liverpool an’ his friend wanted to buy flowers.’ Mary was dressed in the uniform of a typical Liverpool Mary Ellen, with her long black skirt swirling around her ankles, a dark blouse fastened at the neck with a cameo-type brooch and a black knitted shawl around her shoulders. Her black hair was brushed straight back and plaited into a bun to rest in the nape of her neck. Leaning towards Ada she said in her soft Irish brogue, ‘Sure, if business was like this every day wouldn’t I be a rich woman in no time at all?’

  ‘So yer’ve finished for the day?’

  ‘Not while I’ve a breath in me body would I be restin’ on me laurels this time of the day, Ada Perkins! I’m off to the market to replenish me stock, then back to Bold Street with a prayer in me heart to the good Lord that the people are still as generous this afternoon as they were this mornin’.’ Once again she lowered her voice. ‘I only ni
pped home to use the lavvy ’cos I was right desperate, so I was.’

  An idea was forming in Ada’s mind and she knew if she didn’t voice it now she’d lose her nerve. ‘Would I be any good as a flower-seller, Mary?’

  Thinking it was said in humour, Mary laughed. ‘Sure, with your looks, me darlin’, wouldn’t the men be buying flowers off yer even if they didn’t want them? I’d not be lettin’ yer set up next to me, an’ that’s the truth of it.’ When there was no answering smile from Ada, the Irishwoman narrowed her eyes and studied her neighbour’s face closely. ‘Is everythin’ all right with yer, girl? Sure, when yer bumped into me yer were wipin’ yer eyes, an’ didn’t I think yer’d been crying?’

  Ada shook her head. She was fond of Mary and knew she wasn’t one for gossip, but not even with her would she share the burden she was carrying. ‘No, somethin’ blew in me eye, that’s all. But I was serious when I asked about me sellin’ flowers, or anythin’ for that matter. We’re havin’ a hard time makin’ ends meet an’ I thought if I got a little job it would make life a bit easier.’

  ‘Oh girl, yer wouldn’t last five minutes! Sure, the women would run yer off the street in no time if they thought yer were queering their pitch. Most of the street-traders have been in business all their lives, so they have, and their mothers an’ grandmothers before them. It’s a trade handed down through the generations from mother to daughter, and they’re fiercely proud. They’re hard workers and they stick together, so any stranger threatening their livelihood would get short shrift from them.’

  Ada pulled a face as she sighed. ‘Ah well, it was only a thought.’

  ‘Sure, it wasn’t the best thought yer’ve ever had in yer life, me darlin’, an’ that’s the truth of it. It’s better for me to be straight with yer than fill yer head full of blarney.’ Mary wrapped the shawl across her chest, folded her arms and stuck her hands under her armpits for warmth. ‘If it’s a few bob yer after, why don’t yer look for a cleaning job? The pay’s no good, I’ll grant yer that, but it’s better than a kick in the teeth when yer belly’s rumbling.’