Lime Street Blues (7 page)

‘Is it time for dinner yet?’ she asked her mother.

‘I want to stay longer in the fairground,’ Gerald whined, though he was normally an exceptionally serene little boy.

‘Maybe Jeannie and I could have a cup of tea and you stay with your dad, love,’ Rose suggested.

Gerald burst into tears. ‘I don’t want to stay with Dad. He won’t go on things with me.’

Tom’s face, which had been tight all day, grew tighter. ‘You’ll do what your mother says, lad.’

‘It’s all right, Tom. We’ll have a cup of tea later.’

‘No,’ Tom said authoritatively. ‘You’ll have one now. I’ll see you back here in half an hour.’

‘Ten minutes will be long enough.’ Rose threw a worried glance at her tearful son.

‘Ten minutes will be fine,’ Jeannie concurred.

‘I said half an hour.’ Her father turned away dismissively.

What was happening to them? Jeannie wondered over the tea that she didn’t enjoy a bit. Her mother looked
upset and hardly spoke during the half hour that seemed to take for ever. Perhaps she was also at a loss to understand why the day they’d been so much looking forward to had turned out so horribly.

Tom Flowers was a confused man. He stalked around the fairground, pointing out the various attractions to Gerald. ‘Do you want a ride on this?’ he barked when they reached the caterpillar.

Gerald had refused to hold his hand. He lagged behind, sullen-faced, still tearful. ‘Not on my own,’ he sniffed. He wanted to ride with Jeannie or Max, but Jeannie wouldn’t be back for ages and Max wasn’t even there.

Max! What was a father supposed to do with a son who treated him with a complete lack of respect? Tom’s own father had ruled his family with a rod of iron. Tom had never once disputed a word he’d said. He hadn’t particularly wanted to follow the tradition of the eldest son becoming the Corbetts’ gardener, but it was what his father had expected and Tom wouldn’t have dreamt of disappointing him.

Yet Tom’s own son disappointed him all the time. It bothered him that the rest of his family didn’t approve of the punishment he’d meted out to Max. Instead of understanding, even his dear Rose appeared sorry Max had been left behind.

But a man wasn’t a man if he didn’t play first fiddle in his own home. In future, Tom vowed he’d come down even harder on his rebellious son. It was time he made a stand – and he’d start now. He turned angrily on his other son. The caterpillar had stopped and he picked up Gerald and put him none too gently in the coach.

‘You wanted to come to New Brighton, so stop whingeing and enjoy yourself,’ he commanded.

They returned to Ailsham two hours earlier than planned. No one felt like going to the shore to built sandcastles or paddle. The swimming gear was unused, the sandwiches uneaten.

Rose loyally linked her husband’s arm on the long walk from the station. Jeannie and Gerald ran ahead, anxious to see their brother, but Max wasn’t there. He hadn’t been expecting them so early. He’d spent the day with a friend, he explained when he eventally turned up. There was another row that night. He didn’t give a damn about going to New Brighton, Max declared frostily, but his father had no right to confine him to the house.

Tom, driven to distraction by such flagrant insubordination, slapped his son’s face hard. It was the first time he’d ever laid a hand on one of his children. Jeannie realised sadly that their perfect life had come to an end.

Dusk was falling when the McDowds got off the train, sunburnt and content. They’d had a wonderful time in Southport and Sadie couldn’t remember them having felt so close as a family before. It was as if they’d turned a corner. She resolved never to let the feeling go.

In August, a letter arrived to say that Jeannie had passed the eleven-plus. She had been accepted at Orrell Park Grammar School for Girls, only a stone’s throw from the boys’ school that Max attended. A coach passed through the village each morning to take pupils to Philip Wallace in Maghull, dropping off others at the station to make their way by train to their various schools. Two boys from her class had also passed, but Jeannie was the only girl. It didn’t bother her. She was confident she would quickly get to know the other girls.

Colonel Corbett sent ten pounds and his congratulations, not that Jeannie saw the money. It went towards her uniform and other necessary items such as a hockey stick and a tennis racket. Three years ago, a similar sum had been sent to Max who, now that he was reminded of it, launched an indignant tirade against his father.

‘He didn’t even
discuss
it with us, did he, sis? It was
our
money, but he just kept it. I bet the colonel meant for us to buy ourselves presents; a bike, for instance. We
had
to have uniforms, so you and me got nothing out of it. Instead, Dad saved himself ten pounds –
two
lots of ten pounds.’

‘My uniform is terribly expensive, Max,’ Jeannie said reasonably. ‘Dad’s not made of money.’

‘He’s not short of money, either. He earns far more
than an ordinary gardener. And we don’t pay rent like most people.’ Max was determined not to give an inch.

The long summer break passed by dreamily. Jeannie was very much aware that an important part of her life had ended and a new one was about to begin. It was almost like the end of childhood. Groups of girls, who would always be her friends, but no longer the most important ones, gathered in each other’s houses or gardens, went swimming in Holly Brook, played cricket with the boys on the green. There was no sign of Rita McDowd, who normally tagged along. She and her mother were picking fruit on the local farms, someone said.

‘Thank the Lord!’ said another. ‘At least you’ll be rid of her, Jeannie. She had a thing about you.’

‘That’s because Jeannie was the only one prepared to put up with the evil-smelling little bitch.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Jeannie protested. She felt sorry for Rita, about to start Philip Wallace without a single ally.

She managed to stay calm during her first chaotic day at her new school. She was allocated a peg in the cloakroom to hang her royal blue blazer, and a space in which to keep her outdoor shoes – the girls had to wear special, lightweight shoes inside.

The new intake was addressed by the Headmistress, Dr Farthing, a tall, regal woman, who welcomed them to her highly regarded establishment. Afterwards, the girls’ names were called out and they were separated into three forms; 1A, 1B, and 1-remove. Jeannie was in 1-remove along with about thirty others.

A young, red-haired teacher introduced herself as Miss Appleton, their form mistress, who would also take them for Art and History. She led them along a corridor, up
two flights of stairs, and into a classroom where she stationed herself behind the desk at the front.

‘Stay!’ she yelled when the girls streamed in after her and made for the desks. Everyone froze. ‘Before you grab a desk, this will be your form room for the next year. Wherever you sit, it’s where you’ll stay. I want no chopping and changing in the months ahead. If you fall out with the girl next to you, then it’s just too bad.’

There was a chorus of urgent whisperings. ‘Can I sit by you?
Please!
’

As Jeannie knew no one, it didn’t matter where she sat. She chose a desk in the middle and not long afterwards was joined by a pretty girl, healthily tanned, with warm brown eyes and dark hair plaited in a thick pigtail halfway down her back.

‘Hello, I’m Elaine Bailey. Do you mind if I sit by you?’

‘I’m Jeannie Flowers and I don’t mind a bit.’

‘That’s a pretty name!’ The girl threw a shabby leather satchel on to the desk. Her gymslip wasn’t new and looked like a hand-me-down, as did her blouse, which had a frayed collar.

‘Elaine’s pretty too,’ said Jeannie. She reckoned her new companion must be very poor, but when they remained together in the dinner hour, eating their sandwiches together in the canteen, it turned out Elaine’s father was a doctor and she was the third of six children – four brothers and a sister called Marcia. Elaine’s uniform had belonged to Marcia, who was in the fifth form of the same school, and she didn’t mind that the gymslip was too short.

‘Mine’s too long.’ Jeannie grimaced. ‘My mother wanted to take it up a few inches, but Dad wouldn’t let her. He said there’d be a mark when it was let down.’

‘And she let him
stop
her,’ Elaine gasped. ‘My mum doesn’t take a blind bit of notice of Dad. Mind you, gymslips are the last thing on his mind. It takes him all his time to remember our names, let alone notice what we’re wearing. Oh, gosh!’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Did that sound rude? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to criticise your mum and dad.’

‘That’s all right,’ Jeannie said stiffly.

‘Oh, look! I’ve hurt your feelings. I’m terribly sorry, Jeannie.’ Elaine was genuinely upset. ‘In fact, your gymslip looks very smart, almost the New Look.’

‘The New Look went out years ago.’ Nevertheless, she smiled. She liked Elaine and had already made up her mind she would make a very good friend.

At her old school, Jeannie had always been top of the class, but she quickly discovered she was nothing out of the ordinary when compared to Elaine Bailey, whose brain power was prodigious. She only had to scan the pages of a book and be able to remember every relevant detail, whereas Jeannie had to read it over and over, making notes, then study the notes before she felt she knew it properly.

Elaine wanted to be a doctor, like her father, but specialising in psychiatry. She was quietly studious and didn’t show off by always putting up her hand when the teacher asked a question, as some girls did, though Jeannie didn’t doubt she knew the answer.

Despite her phenomenal memory, Elaine was terribly absent-minded. She consistently forgot to bring the right books to school or the homework that was due to be handed in that day. Fortunately, the Baileys only lived a few minutes away in Walton Vale, so there was usually time to rush home for whatever Elaine had forgotten.

The two girls formed an unspoken partnership. Jeannie, who arrived early at school, waited by the gate for Elaine and checked she’d brought everything, while Elaine explained to her the more obscure points of algebra and geometry.

At the end of the second week Elaine invited Jeannie to tea after school the following Wednesday.

‘I’d love to, but I’ll have to ask my dad first.’

‘What’s her name again?’ Tom wanted to know when Jeannie told him about the invitation.

‘Elaine Bailey. She lives in Walton Vale, only a little walk from Orrell Park. She’s terribly clever.’

‘I’m sure they’re a very respectable family, Tom, if their daughter goes to Orrell Park Grammar.’ Rose was watching the proceedings anxiously.

‘Hmm! What time will you be home on Wednesday?’

‘I dunno. About half past six, I suppose.’

Tom Flowers regarded his own daughter sternly. ‘I hope you didn’t learn
that
off this Elaine Bailey.’

‘What, Dad?’ Jeannie asked, mystified.

‘ “Dunno”. It should be two separate words, if I remember rightly.’

‘She probably got it from Max.’ Max was so often in trouble, it didn’t matter if he was blamed for something he might not have done.

‘All right, you can go. But enjoy it while you can, girl, because you’ll not be having tea with anyone once winter comes. I’m not having you walking home from the station by yourself in the dark.’

‘Thank you, Dad!’ Jeannie noticed her mother’s look of relief.

The Baileys’ big, four-storey house was behind a cinema in Walton Vale. It had a brass plate on the front door and
the two front rooms had been turned into a surgery and a waiting room that was half full of patients when Elaine and Jeannie arrived. Mrs Bailey acted as her husband’s secretary and receptionist, as well as looking after their six children. She was a jolly, surprisingly placid woman, considering the hectic life she led.

The three younger boys – Elaine referred to them as ‘the terrible trio’ – had already eaten by the time the girls arrived and could be heard creating bedlam in the handkerchief-sized back yard. Jeannie was taken into a large kitchen where the worn wooden cupboards and old-fashioned brown sink contrasted oddly with a tall fridge, a washing machine, and a spin dryer. A big pan of stew simmered on the stove and Jeannie was given a plate and told to help herself.

Elaine explained her mum and dad wouldn’t eat till later. ‘Come on, the dining room’s in here. Our Lachlan will be home in about half an hour. He has a violin lesson after school.’ Lachlan’s name was pronounced ‘Loklan’, though the spelling made it look quite different, Elaine said. He was fourteen and hadn’t passed the eleven-plus due to the fact that, as far as anyone knew, he had never read a book in his life. All he thought about was music.

Marcia, the oldest member of the family, was seated at the table when the two girls went into the dining room. Jeannie had already met Marcia, fifteen, and bearing no resemblance to Elaine, being fair-haired, tall, and slim. She seemed to hold strong opinions about every subject under the sun, which she expressed in a loud, grating voice, oblivious to whether someone’s feelings might be hurt. She and Lachlan were going to the pictures later that night to see Marilyn Monroe and Joseph Cotton in
Niagara
.

‘Have you seen it, Jeannie?’ she enquired.

Jeannie was forced to confess she’d been to the pictures only once in her life, to see
The Wizard of Oz
one Christmas.

Marcia looked astounded. ‘Only
once
? But you’ve seen films on telly, haven’t you?’ she insisted. ‘Alfred Hitchcock’s
The Man Who Knew Too Much
was on the other night. They say it’s not as good as the remake with Doris Day and James Stewart, but we haven’t seen that yet.’

‘We haven’t got a television.’

‘It sounds like it’s still the nineteenth century in your village,’ Marcia sniffed disdainfully.

‘Oh, no! Loads of people have televisions, it’s just that my father doesn’t believe in them.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘She doesn’t either.’ Jeannie wasn’t convinced if this were true. Mum had lately been finding an excuse to call on the Taylors, who lived next door but one, for half an hour or so during the evening. It was Max’s theory she was watching their telly.