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‘You always say that,’ Seamus said with an angry toss of his head, though his eyes were filling as he spoke. ‘But you’d be surprised what I remember.’ He scowled at Lizzie, who stared at him in alarm while Cora glowered angrily. ‘I’ll thank you two boys not to interfere in grown-ups’ conversations, so sit down and be quiet.’
‘But you always said Joe wasn’t really—’ Tommy persisted.
‘Enough!’ Cora cut in, her voice sharp now. ‘Mrs Tanner doesn’t want to be hearing any more of your nonsense and I won’t have you upsetting our Lizzie.’
‘I suppose we’ve all had it tough,’ Elsie said. ‘One way or another, we’ve all lost loved ones at some point.’ Elsie sighed. Then her lips twisted into a smile. ‘Though as far as I’m concerned, I can’t pretend I’m sorry my man is overseas. I don’t care if he stays there. I’m lucky I’ve got my kids. They make up for a hell of a lot.’
‘Yes, they do,’ Cora said, suddenly hugging Sammy close to her. ‘When they’re not trying to get above themselves,’ she added rubbing her finger under her eyelids.
‘But it’s because of my dad that we’ve been able to move here,’ Lizzie said. This time she was unable to stop the tremor in her voice. ‘We couldn’t pay the rent at our old place without my dad’s wages coming in.’
‘Then we found out that we were due something through the benevolent fund at Hardcastle’s Mill,’ Cora added. ‘Archie had worked there since he were a lad, so they said on account of that they could offer us number nine Coronation Street at a much lower rent. We could hardly say no, we was getting that desperate.’
Lizzie put her hands out to Sammy, who began cooing with delight. He struggled to sit up in Cora’s lap and stretched his arms towards Lizzie. She gathered him up and held him aloft, her arms high over her head. Then she lowered him back down into her lap and repeated the game several times until Sammy was beside himself with excitement.
‘I don’t imagine you’ve been able to go out to work since he was born?’ Elsie said.
Lizzie opened her mouth as if to say something, but it was Cora who shook her head and then spoke. ‘I can’t be getting a job on account of having to look after this little one all day.’ She stroked the top of Sammy’s head. ‘So Lizzie’s the one that’ll be looking for work. I used to work while she was at college and we all had such high hopes …’ Her eyes momentarily flashed with pride. ‘She was training to be a teacher, you know, before all this war business got in the way, but of course, these last few months what with the baby and all, I’ve had to stay home to look after him, same as I looked after the other two.’
Lizzie bit her lip. ‘College was a long time ago, Ma,’ she said. ‘I reckon I’ve earned my keep well enough since I stopped going.’ She turned to Elsie. ‘I was last working in a dress shop near to where we were living on the other side of Weatherfield,’ she said, ‘but it’s too far to get to from here.’
‘How would you fancy working behind a bar?’ Elsie asked.
‘I don’t mind what I do so long as it’s local and pays me a wage that’ll help to keep us all going.’ Lizzie sat up.
‘Then you might want to try the Tripe Dresser’s Arms,’ Elsie said.
‘Come again?’ Cora laughed.
‘Seriously, it’s the pub at the other end of Rosamund Street and it’s called the Tripe Dresser’s Arms.’ Elsie laughed too. ‘For now, at any rate, though probably not for much longer.’
‘Why’s that then?’ Lizzie asked.
‘It’s been taken over by Warner’s brewery and it’s being done up. Rumour has it they’ll be changing the name and I reckon they’ll be looking for new staff pretty soon too; before they open, at any rate, which shouldn’t be too long from what I hear. And then sparks will fly.’
‘How come?’
‘It’ll be in direct competition with the Rovers Return, the main pub on the corner of Rosamund and Coronation Street. Once the war ends, folk will be looking for bright new places to have some fun. A newly done over pub should fill the bill – and won’t that be one in the eye for the lardy dah Lady Walker.’ Elsie gave a self-satisfied smile.
‘Who’s she then when she’s at home?’ Lizzie wanted to know.
‘Annie Walker is the landlady at the Rovers. And let me tell you, a spot of competition won’t do her any harm. Mind, she’s done a good job keeping things going while her husband Jack’s been away in the army, I’ll give her that. But the trouble is she thinks she’s the bee’s knees – conveniently forgets we’ve all had to pull our weight, one way or another. It’ll do her good to be taken down a peg or two.’
‘Why wasn’t the Tripe’s Arms, or whatever you call it, competition enough?’ Lizzie was interested.
‘I suppose you could say it was a bit rough. Far rougher than the Rovers. Though I would never have admitted that to Annie Walker. She liked to think the Tripe wasn’t in the same league as the Rovers. Spit-and-sawdust they call it round here. But it wasn’t so bad. I’ve drunk there on occasion. But now there’s to be a new landlord and I’ve heard he wants to smarten it up some, so there could be fireworks between him and Mrs Walker.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘Bit of rivalry could be good for business.’
‘Sounds like it might even do us a bit of good too,’ Cora said. ‘So?’ she said and turned to Lizzie. ‘You’d best get in there quick if you’ve half a mind to land yourself a job. What do you think?’
Lizzie nodded her head in agreement. Serving behind a bar was not what she’d planned to be doing when she’d first left school, but then life had turned out so differently that now she really had no choice. Beggars can’t be choosers, as her ma so often reminded her, so she said, ‘I think I should get down there as soon as possible, and find out when they intend to start hiring.’
There were ladders up outside the pub, in front of the large plate-glass window, and when Lizzie arrived two men were wrestling with a freshly painted sign that read, The Pride of Weatherfield. An older-looking man, who not so long ago had probably been part of the Home Guard or one of the firewatchers, was slowly applying a coat of glossy black paint to a side door. He was obviously in no hurry and was alternating swipes of the paint brush with long draws on his cigarette when Lizzie approached him.
‘Excuse me, but do you know when they’ll be opening for business?’
The man took the opportunity to rest the brush in the paint pot and suck an extra few puffs from his cigarette as he eyed her up and down.
‘Desperate for a drink, are you?’ He gave a phlegmy laugh.
‘No,’ Lizzie retorted, ‘but I wouldn’t say no to a job.’
‘Well, put it this way, they can’t open before I’ve finished this,’ he said waving the paintbrush in the air, ‘an’ I’ve to make this here pot go as far as I can, so you can work it out yourself.’ He coughed and laughed again.
Lizzie turned away as he went back to his work, chuckling.
A young woman in a headscarf was passing by the large frontage, her lips pursed so that she looked as if she was whistling quietly. She stopped when Lizzie spoke to the workman and glanced up at the sign, interested in his reply.
‘Glad to hear you ask that,’ she addressed Lizzie. ‘Cos I’ve been wondering the same thing.’
‘You a barmaid an’ all?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Oh no! I tried it once but I’m not quick enough at making change. I’ll stick to my cleaning. At least I know I’m good at that. My name’s Hilda Ogden, by the way.’ She extended a hand in Lizzie’s direction.
Lizzie shook it. ‘Lizzie, Lizzie Doyle,’ she said. ‘Where’ve you been working till now, Hilda?’
‘I’ve been up at the moonitions place up the road. Very important we were, once upon a time, making bullets and the like, but they’re beginning to lay folk off now, starting with me! I thought I should get down here quick to find out when they might start hiring so’s I could get a new job. Perhaps one more suited to my talons.’
Lizzie smothered a smile at Hilda’s unfortunate mis-choice of words. ‘It looks like we might well be first in line,’ she said, ‘though I’m sure we won’t be the last.’
‘You live round here then?’ Hilda asked.
Lizzie nodded. ‘I’ve just moved into Coronation Street with my ma and … my three brothers. And you?’
‘I’m living in Charles Street, not very far away,’ Hilda said. She pointed in the general direction of the next set of terraces. ‘At least, I’ll be there until my Stan is mobbed and comes home from Italy. It would be handy to work here. Whereabouts in Coronation Street are you?’
‘Number nine’.
‘Like it?’
‘We’ve not really settled in yet, though everyone I’ve met so far seems very friendly. In fact, it were our next-door neighbour as told me about this new pub.’
Hilda gave a short laugh. ‘She obviously didn’t want the job then,’ she tittered. With a nervous gesture she retied her headscarf under her chin, pulling the knot away from her throat, then she patted the curls that stuck out at the front as if for reassurance.
‘I suppose not,’ Lizzie said. ‘But she seems nice. Like she enjoys a good laugh. I reckon she needs it with two young kiddies to look out for. But, no, she didn’t seem to be interested in the job herself.’ Hilda tapped the side of her nose. ‘Maybe she’s one of them who finds other ways of putting a bit of extra food on the table, treats for the kiddies and the like, if you follow my meaning. I’ve heard talk of some round here who liked to hang around them Yankee soldiers, always cadging ciggies or chocolates or the odd pair of nylons from them.’ Lizzie looked at her sharply, but Hilda had turned away and was using the window as a mirror, a benign smile on her face.
The two men had successfully managed to string the banner announcing The Pride of Weatherfield above the plate-glass window and were fastening a smaller brewery sign for Warner’s Ales to the wall.
‘What do you say we knock on and see if anyone’s at home yet?’ Lizzie suggested.
‘Good idea, chuck,’ Hilda said, and she immediately linked arms with Lizzie as they faced the front doors. But they were saved the bother of knocking, for at that moment one of the doors swung open, like in the Western saloon bars Lizzie had seen at the pictures, and it nearly knocked over the painter. A large man with a balding head, his lumberjack shirt barely fastening over his corporate-sized belly, emerged. He didn’t look in her direction, but she could see how he stood his ground, feet planted firmly apart, his features set in a no-nonsense stare as he folded his arms and addressed the man with the paintbrush.
‘How’s things going, Fred?’ he barked. ‘How much longer?’
‘All under control, Bob. No need to fret. We’ll soon be done and out of your hair.’ Fred took a particularly long drag on his cigarette and nodded towards Lizzie and Hilda. ‘I think these young ladies might be wanting a word with you.’
Bob looked at them then and Lizzie immediately felt she was under close scrutiny. She disengaged her arm from Hilda’s and tried to meet his fearsome gaze with a confident air. ‘Are you the landlord here?’ she said.
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘I am that. Who wants to know?’
‘My name’s Lizzie Doyle and I came to ask when you’re likely to be hiring new staff?’
The man clicked his heels, smiling suddenly. ‘Bob Bennett at your service.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘I’d like to apply to be a barmaid.’
‘Would you now, Miss Doyle? And you’ve worked behind a bar before, have you?’ he asked in a mock-Irish accent and Lizzie could feel her hackles rise.
‘I’m not actually Irish,’ she said. She looked at him directly now, in a show of bravado. ‘That would be my mother you’d be confusing me with.’
‘No offence,’ he said, putting his hands up as if she were holding a gun on him. ‘I’m always one for a little joke. Why don’t you come inside? We’ve no need to conduct this little interview out in the cold, now have we?’ He put his arm round her waist and gave her a squeeze as he made to usher her inside. Lizzie wriggled out of his grasp and turned round quickly, grabbing hold of Hilda’s arm again.
‘Oh, but my friend Hilda’s looking for a job too. She’s an excellent cleaner and comes highly recommended. You might be interested in hiring the both of us at the same time.’
Bob didn’t reply but flashed a disdainful glance at Hilda before turning his attention back to Lizzie. Hilda gave a nervous giggle and hung on to Lizzie’s arm as Bob beckoned them to follow him indoors.
Chapter 2 (#u32a89401-71ce-5f73-9afb-1f4cd48eaf94)
The refurbishment of the old pub, now to be called the Pride of Weatherfield, had almost been completed, and according to Bob he was preparing to open the doors to much razzmatazz on 14 February, St Valentine’s day.
‘After that,’ he said, ‘there’ll be live shows every Saturday night with a variety of up-and-coming cabaret artists and me, of course, giving them the benefit of my old magic act in between.’
There was no doubt the builders had done a good job on the refurbishment and Lizzie liked what she saw when Bob gave her and Hilda a brief tour of the premises. He didn’t seem concerned that she had no actual bar experience. ‘I’m sure you’re a fast learner,’ he said with a wink. So, despite any reservations she may have had about his somewhat over-familiar behaviour, she couldn’t afford to refuse when he put his arm around her shoulders and offered her the job as a full-time barmaid.
‘Play your cards right and pretty soon you could find that you’re in charge,’ he said. ‘I need someone I can rely on and you look like that kind of someone.’ But before Lizzie could respond he’d moved on to Hilda, officially hiring her as the Pride’s new cleaner.
‘I have to say, this year’s starting out a lot better than the last one. Don’t you think?’ Hilda interrupted Lizzie’s thoughts as they left the pub together after their successful interviews. ‘I call that a good morning’s work.’ She swiped one hand across the other several times in quick succession to indicate her satisfaction.
Lizzie nodded; she didn’t want to dampen Hilda’s enthusiasm voicing her reservations. She was just thankful that she had a job, and that at least it wasn’t in a munitions factory.
‘What with the war ending and all the soldiers coming home, the future’s looking right exciting, isn’t it?’ Hilda continued to bubble as she stared ahead dreamily, but Lizzie was too bound up with her own thoughts to answer. Suddenly Hilda giggled. ‘Fancy, live shows with singers and comicals in Weatherfield every Saturday night, whatever next? I think I’m going to like working there,’ she said. ‘What about you, Lizzie? You’re very quiet. What do you think?’
‘Hmm,’ Lizzie said, ‘I was thinking about what it might feel like actually pulling pints. But at least I shan’t have to worry about putting food on the table at home for the next little while.’
Bob organized a meeting for the newly hired staff the day before the Pride officially opened its doors and it seemed fitting that he addressed them from the stage, for he had a showman’s air about him in everything he did. And Lizzie could see from the start that he was not a man to be challenged.
‘I’ve already started developing a weekly entertainment programme as you can see from the flyers I’ve left on the tables,’ Bob informed them all. Then he gave a brief introductory welcome to Lizzie and Hilda, Pat Evans and several other young women who he’d hired as part-time barmaids, and a couple of shifty-looking older men who were helping out on a casual basis in the cellar. ‘And for our first night I’ve booked a local singer who’s recently returned from a tour abroad where she’s been one of the star acts entertaining the troops.’ Lizzie looked with interest at the leaflets that were being passed round, but was disappointed to find she’d never heard of the singer despite the build-up. She whispered as much to Hilda.
‘Me neither,’ Hilda responded. Her voice was well above a whisper and she received a glowering look from Bob.
‘On show nights, I’ll be acting as compere,’ Bob continued, expanding his chest as he tucked his thumbs under his braces and strode back and forth across the stage. ‘So, I’ll introduce the acts, tell a few jokes and perform the odd magic trick or two like I used to in the good old days in Blackpool.’ He was beaming now.
‘The one thing I’m asking everyone else to do, as you can see from the leaflets, is to wear something special for opening night,’ he said. ‘I would say wear your Sunday best, but that might be very dull.’ There was a titter from the floor. ‘So, let’s see if we can find a way to brighten things up and really let our hair down.’ He gave a lurid wink. ‘If you know what I mean. I’m offering a prize for the brightest and best so let’s see what you can do.’
‘Does that mean I’ll have to take my curlers out?’ Hilda chuckled. ‘Only he didn’t say anything about hairdos,’ she said and Lizzie had to stifle a yelp as she felt Hilda’s elbow in her ribs.
‘If we show the punters on the first night that this pub is really something out of the ordinary, then the whole neighbourhood will want to come to see what’s going on. And once they’re through those doors,’ he pointed, ‘all we have to do is to make sure to keep the beer flowing. In one night we’ll become more than the Pride of Weatherfield – we’ll be the talk of bloomin’ Weatherfield and we’ll knock our rivals, as the saying goes, into a cocked hat.’ This time he winked in Lizzie’s direction and she felt the blood rise to her cheeks.
‘Good luck, everyone!’ He raised both his arms high over his head in a sort of triumphal wave. ‘See you on Wednesday.’
Lizzie grumbled to her mother about the idea of dressing up for the opening. ‘What do I want to waste time and money getting dressed up for? It’s not as though I’m trying to get a new boyfriend or anything,’ she said. ‘Who’d want me anyway?’ she added.
‘Lizzie, you’ve got to stop talking like that. You can’t keep hiding away,’ Cora said, trying not to show her exasperation. ‘You’re young. What’s wrong with dressing up once in a while? You’ve got to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past.’
‘It’s not as simple as that, as well you know.’ A tear trickled down Lizzie’s face. ‘I won’t ever be able to let go of the past.’ She wiped the end of her nose with her handkerchief. ‘Besides, it’s not as if we’ve got enough money or sufficient clothing coupons to buy any new material, so what am I going to do, even if I wanted to go along with it? I’ve not even got anything I could alter.’
Lizzie pulled her only smart dress off the clothes rail in the bedroom they shared and held it against her while she peered down, trying to gauge its appropriateness. She shook her head. ‘I can’t wear this. It’s far too old-fashioned, too big, and the grey looks so dull.’ Her voice was close to tears again as she threw it down on the bed, then she shut her eyes quickly as she remembered the last time she had worn it. She had to breathe deeply before she could risk opening her eyes. Then she saw Cora had picked it up and was scrutinizing it.
‘It’s not as though there’s enough material in it to be able to turn it into something different,’ Cora said as she hung it back on the rail. ‘But I tell you what, why don’t you try on that green taffeta dress of mine? There’s lots of material to play with in that.’
‘You mean the one you hired for that big dance you went to with Daddy before the war?’ Lizzie turned to her mother.
Cora laughed. ‘You make it sound like I stole it, which I never did.’
‘I know. The shop closed down before you could return it after the do.’
‘Well, it’s true,’ Cora said. ‘So what was I supposed to do with it? Besides, it was well worn by the time I got it. But you’re welcome to have it if you’d like, so you are. Let’s see what we can do with it.’ Cora was already standing on a chair and, lifting down one of the boxes from the shelf above the clothes rail, she set it on the bed. There was a rustle of tissue paper as she removed the lid and a strong smell of camphor rose from inside. The anti-moth crystals had evaporated and all that remained were the slender chains of lavender-coloured thread. She carefully unpacked the emerald-green, shot-taffeta gown, standing back to admire it while Lizzie looked at it critically.
‘I suppose I could take out one of the panels in the skirt, nip it in at the waist on either side, and then shorten it. That would make it quite stylish,’ she said. ‘Providing Gran’s sewing machine still works, of course.’
Cora laughed. ‘It better had, or else we’ve been carting it about with us like a dead donkey. I was hoping to run up some curtains if I can find enough bits of material at the charity shop.’
Lizzie pulled the dress against her and tried to look at her reflection in the broken fragment of mirror her mother held up for her.
‘It’s a bit worn under the arms, but I could take a tuck there to get rid of the faded bits, if you really wouldn’t mind. I’d hate to spoil it by playing about with it too much.’ Lizzie sounded uncertain now as she looked to her mother for approval.
‘It really doesn’t matter what you do with it,’ Cora said. ‘I think there might even be some beads in the sewing box. You could dress it up a bit and it’d look really pretty, so it would.’
Lizzie turned to her mother and smiled. ‘If you’re sure?’ Then she leaned forward and, grabbing her by the shoulders, kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Ma,’ she said.
Cora laughed. ‘You might as well enjoy it. I’ll certainly not have any use for it again.’ She stroked her hand gently over the material and it seemed to change colour as she touched it. Tears were in her voice as she spoke and Lizzie put her arms round her, holding her close for a moment.
‘Oh Ma, don’t say that.’
‘Why not? It’s true. I’m not likely to need it again, now am I? When will I go dancing? Besides which, I’d never be able to fit into it; and if I did, it would only make me look like mutton dressed as lamb.’ She laughed ironically then immediately became serious again. ‘No, my love, you’ve still got your whole life in front of you and it’s important you remember that. I know it’s hard, because of – well, because of everything that’s happened, but you mustn’t hide yourself away.’
‘Ma! I hate when you talk like that when you know that I can’t—’
‘Yes, I know that it still hurts but it doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun sometimes. Your life can’t stop because of … because of what happened. So, you wear it and enjoy it.’ To her relief, Lizzie began to peel off her clothes and prepared to try the dress on.
