Snow on the Cobbles
Maggie Sullivan
The prefect seasonal gift full of nostalgia and charm, perfect for fans of Coronation Street and readers who love Fiction set in times past. When Lizzie moves with her mother and her brothers to No. 9 Coronation Street at the end of the Second World War, it’s a new start for all of them after the loses and heartache they’ve endured. Their new neighbour, Elsie Tanner, tells them that the house is said to have bad luck, but things look up for Lizzie when she lands a job as a barmaid in a local pub, the Pride of Weatherfield. There she makes friends with the young and giddy Hilda Ogden, still waiting for her wayward husband, Stan, to come home from the war. It isn’t long before they realize that the place isn’t quite it seems, but Lizzie has been keeping secrets too and as winter draws in, there are a few surprises in store for Coronation Street …
Copyright (#u32a89401-71ce-5f73-9afb-1f4cd48eaf94)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Coronation Street is an ITV Studios Production
Copyright © ITV Ventures Limited 2018
Cover design by Cliff Webb © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019.
Cover photograph © Stephen Searle/Alamy Stock Photo (Coronation Street); 2ebill/Alamy Stock Photo (children on front cover); © Topfoto.co.uk (http://www.topfoto.co.uk) (women and children on back cover).
Jean Alexander / Hilda Ogden archive photograph © ITV / Rex / Shutterstock
Maggie Sullivan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008354756
Ebook Edition © November 2019 ISBN: 9780008255190
Version: 2019-10-09
Dedication (#u32a89401-71ce-5f73-9afb-1f4cd48eaf94)
To my wonderful nieces Avril and Masha
Contents
Cover (#u8a0aab77-d673-5b85-9926-a25cc9944f58)
Title Page (#ubbcd0231-1f29-5480-85d7-c75afa2f5f2f)
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Jean Alexander – would the real Hilda Ogden stand up please?
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Maggie Sullivan
About the Publisher
Chapter 1 (#u32a89401-71ce-5f73-9afb-1f4cd48eaf94)
Weatherfield, January 1945
Hilda Ogden blew the dust off the photograph frame.
‘My Stan,’ she sighed. She pursed her lips in the direction of his cheek only drawing back when they touched the cold glass. ‘Come home soon, chuck,’ she whispered as she placed it back on the tiled mantelpiece. ‘The bed’s cold without you.’ But she had no time to dwell on her prisoner-of-war husband right now. While he remained stuck in Italy there wasn’t much he could do to help her, but here at home it was Monday morning, the start of a new working week, time for Hilda to brave the spell of wintry weather that had suddenly hit Weatherfield, and hope that the thin dusting of snow that had already stuck to the wet cobbles overnight wouldn’t seep through the canvas of her shoes. It was time for her to venture out to find a new job.
‘We won’t be needing all our workers now, so it’ll be last in first out,’ Al Martin the supervisor at Earnshaw’s munitions factory had said last Friday when he’d handed over her wages, her notice, and a few additional hours’ pay for some extra time she’d put in. ‘Consider yourself lucky the boss was feeling generous enough to give you a few bob besides.’ Hilda had looked down at the added coins, wondering what she might be able to treat herself to from the corner shop on the way home.
Al was one of the growing number who were convinced the war was going to end very soon now since the Home Guard had been disbanded in December and the Civil Defence was gradually being stood down and Hilda could only hope he was right. The occasional unmanned rockets were still falling in the south but things in Weatherfield had been quiet regarding bombs and sirens for several weeks now and rumour had it that it would all be over in a few months. Not that it would make it any easier for her to find a new job if all the soldiers came rushing home, but Hilda was willing to take on the kind of jobs that most men would avoid, like doing a spot of cleaning, especially if the money was put directly into her hands, no strings attached. She had shrugged as she turned to leave the office, humming in her usual tuneless way.
She’d wondered about trying for a job at the pub in Coronation Street, The Rovers Return, as it was not far from Charles Street where she and Stan were renting rooms; well, she was renting the rooms – Stan had never even seen them, of course. She’d had the occasional drink in the Rovers, met a few of the locals, but she wasn’t sure about working with the stuck-up landlady, Annie Walker. The Tripe Dresser’s Arms, on the other hand, around the corner from the Rovers, was more Hilda’s style with its bare brickwork, sawdust sprinkled on the stone floors, and its rough-and-ready customers. It had been closed for a while but Hilda had heard it would be opening again soon with new landlords. According to one of Hilda’s friends, they were doing it up and would be needing staff, so she should get down there quick.
Hilda pulled her well-worn coat round her skinny frame and shivered, watching through the windows as further flurries of snowflakes settled on the slushy paving stones. She knew the thin, unlined material wouldn’t provide much protection against the chilling wind but it was all she’d managed to find in the Red Cross charity shop this winter and she hoped her thin-soled shoes wouldn’t send her slip-sliding across the shiny cobbles. She shook her tightly wound curls free from the curlers she’d wrapped them in overnight and covered them with a headscarf that she tied under her chin. Checking her reflection in the wide oval mirror over the empty fireplace, she pulled up her coat collar and, with a hopeful smile, set off in search of work.
Lizzie Doyle looked down at the piece of paper in her hand, then up at the house in the middle of the terraced row. Number nine Coronation Street. It looked a lot crisper and cleaner in the black-and-white photograph than the real thing. She peeked into the folds of the blanket-wrapped bundle she was holding closely in her arms and rubbed her finger gently against the baby’s pink cheeks. She felt proud that despite all the shortages the family had suffered recently at least they were as smooth and plump as any six-month-old’s should be. ‘Nothing a bit of soapy water and a touch of elbow grease won’t shift, eh, Sammy?’ She stared directly into his dark-blue eyes. ‘So, how do you fancy living here, then? It doesn’t look so bad, does it? And by the time our ma and the boys are installed and we’ve run up some bits and pieces of curtains and the like, I’m sure we can make it really nice.’
She put the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. She was about to step inside when the door to number eleven swung open, revealing a young redhead, dressed in a short skirt and brightly coloured home-knit jumper. She looked to be about twenty or twenty-one, the same age as Lizzie. The woman drew on the cigarette she held between two nicotine-stained fingers and blew the smoke high into the air.
‘Morning,’ she said peering beyond Lizzie into the hallway of number nine. ‘You movin’ in?’
‘When me ma and brothers gets here with the cart, we will be, yes. You live next door, then?’
The young woman put out her hand. ‘Elsie Tanner’s the name. And I do indeed live here at number eleven. Welcome to Coronation Street.’
Lizzie transferred the baby into the crook of her other arm and shook Elsie’s hand. ‘Ta,’ she said, ‘I’m Lizzie Doyle.’
‘We was all wondering who’d be brave enough to take it on,’ Elsie said.
‘Why’s that?’ Lizzie felt a jolt of alarm. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Oh, there’s nowt really wrong, I can assure you. And I’d know as I’ve lived next door for nearly six years now. But you know how it is, when a house has been empty for a while – folk like to make something of it, and by the time everyone has put their two penn’orth in there’s all kinds of rumours flying around, even when there’s no truth to them.’
‘Has it been empty that long? No wonder it smelt musty when I opened the door.’
Elsie leaned back against her own front door. ‘Nowt to fret about, the last of the Todd family departed not long since.’
Lizzie didn’t say anything. They couldn’t afford to be choosey. They needed this house and her ma would never let any neighbourhood gossip put them off. ‘I suppose folks need to keep themselves entertained,’ she said eventually. ‘There is a war on.’
‘Aye, though maybe it’ll be over soon, eh? Let’s hope.’ Elsie pulled herself upright. ‘And let’s hope you’ll bring a bit of luck to the place.’ She grinned, and coming down off the front doorstep, tried to peep inside the blanket. ‘That your nipper?’
‘My baby brother,’ Lizzie said quickly, pulling the blanket back from Sammy’s face. Elsie chuckled him under the chin.
‘And the rest of the family are following on with all your stuff, then?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘All our worldly goods. Not that there’s much to ’em, but we manage.’
‘How many of you is there?’
‘There’s me ma, Cora Doyle, the twins Seamus and Tommy – they’re seven – and little Sammy here; he’s not yet six months.’
‘Gosh, your poor mum’s got her hands full there.’ Elsie laughed. ‘I’ve got two little ’uns, so I know what it’s like. They’re five and two and they’re always getting under my feet. No doubt you’ll hear us all yelling at each other – the bricks are not so thick.’ She knocked on the wall that joined the two houses to prove her point.
Lizzie grinned. ‘I don’t think we’ll be any better. The twins are quite a handful when they’ve a mind. At least, Seamus is, though they think I can’t tell the difference between them. And this one can do his fair share of screaming.’ She beamed down at the baby who rewarded her with a toothless smile.
‘Have you come far?’ Elsie asked.
Lizzie hesitated, unwilling to go into detail about the family’s comings and goings. ‘The other side of Weatherfield,’ she said eventually.
‘I tell you what, then,’ Elsie said, ‘when your lot get here why don’t you all pop in for a quick brew? I don’t suppose a kettle, or coal for the fire will be the first things you’ll have to hand.’ She turned to go back indoors. ‘I’ll go and get the water up. You knock on when they arrive.’
Elsie’s house looked well lived-in. There were several chairs and a large wooden table and every surface was covered with toys or discarded clothing. Elsie was tending the fire at the kitchen end of the long room when they arrived and she went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up the stairwell, ‘Linda, Dennis, get your arses down here now! We’ve got visitors and there’s nowhere for ’em to sit. How many bloody times do I have to tell you?’ She gave a resigned smile and threw her hands up in a gesture of despair.
Lizzie looked round the cluttered room. It was the same shape as the one they had just piled their few belongings into but Elsie had made some changes, like the wall behind the two-seater couch in the living area that was papered from floor to ceiling with pictures of film stars cut from magazines.
‘Don’t you just love him to death?’ Elsie said, making a brushing motion on the moustache on the enlarged face of Clark Gable. ‘My Linda would have been called Clark if she’d been a boy. But I had to settle for Linda Darnell. Which was just as well, I’m not sure Clark’s quite right for a kid to be saddled with round here and he’d certainly not have thanked me once he’d got to Bessie Street school.’ She gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Here, don’t mind these.’ Elsie picked up a little girl’s vest and a liberty bodice and stuffed them behind a threadbare cushion that looked as if it had been punched into a corner of the couch.
‘Sit anywhere you like,’ she said, gesturing aimlessly round the room. ‘The kids won’t care what you do with their things. They never know where anything is anyway.’ As she spoke, she swept the items from two of the chairs onto the floor before hurrying back to where the kettle had begun to whistle on the hearth. Lizzie removed the dubious remains of a knitted bunny and what was left of its fluff-ball tail from the upright chair that was closest to her and sat it down on the table, indicating that her mother, who’d taken charge of baby Sammy, should sit down.
‘Linda!’ Elsie shrieked from the scullery. ‘What have I told you about leaving that mucky old rabbit lying around? If I find it down here one more time I’m going to chuck it straight into the dustbin.’
A little girl with sandy-coloured hair wound round strips of rags, had come down the stairs and was busy putting a one-armed doll to bed under a handkerchief. At the sound of her mother’s shriek she grabbed the offending animal from the table. ‘He’s mine,’ she said, pushing the stuffing back into the rabbit’s chest, ‘and you can’t have him!’ And she abandoned the doll and bounded back up the stairs.
‘Tell that brother of yours to come down and shift his bloody things before I give ’em all to the rag ’n’ bone man,’ Elsie yelled after her. ‘Honestly. Kids!’ She turned to her visitors and shrugged in frustration.
Cora grinned her agreement. ‘Don’t let these two fool you, them looking as if butter wouldn’t melt,’ she said, indicating the twins. Elsie put down two steaming cups, not seeming to care about the new scorch rings they seared onto the table. Then she brought in her own drink and sat down to join them. There was no milk or sugar on offer.
Lizzie’s gaze was drawn to a photograph of a young couple that stood on the mantelshelf in a wooden frame. She recognized the woman as Elsie, though in the picture she looked no more than a girl. She was smartly dressed in a tailored costume and was smiling confidently into the camera. Her hair was coiffed in the latest style and she was holding a small bunch of flowers. The man was considerably taller, with broad shoulders that were made to look even wider by his double-breasted suit. He had a moustache that drooped over his scowling mouth.
‘That’s Arnold, my lumbering hulk of a husband,’ Elsie told Lizzie. ‘Though thank goodness, he’s been away at sea since the start of the war. He says he likes me to keep the photograph on show to remind me I’m married.’ Without thinking, she rubbed her arm ruefully. ‘But not for much longer, if I have my way.’ She picked the frame up and stared at it for several moments. Then, with a defiant look, she put it back on the mantelshelf, face down. ‘But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my family nonsense.’ She turned to Lizzie’s mother. ‘So, Cora, is your husband away fighting still?’
Lizzie was about to cut in but she had to bite her lip to stop it quivering.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ It was Cora who answered, the hint of her Irish brogue still apparent. ‘He’ll not be coming home no more, at all.’
Elsie’s cheeks coloured. ‘Me and my big mouth. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to …’
‘No, it’s all right,’ Cora said softly. ‘You weren’t to know. And it’s something we’re all learning to live with since we got one of those dreaded letters from his captain. It was at Christmas, would you believe,’ Cora said, looking away as she tried to stop her voice trembling. ‘It was filled with all the usual nonsense. Died bravely, didn’t suffer, blah, blah, blah. I’m sure everyone’s told the same thing.’
‘And just so’s you know, my Joe was taken the year before,’ Lizzie added quietly and she couldn’t look at Elsie either as she struggled to control her breathing.
It was Seamus who broke the momentary silence. ‘But that wasn’t the same as losing me dad. Yous wasn’t even wed yet, so it doesn’t count.’
Lizzie’s cheeks flamed.
‘And he was American.’ Tommy joined in now.
‘Actually, he was Canadian,’ Lizzie said, her voice cold. ‘And let me tell you, every single person who fights for us counts when there’s a war on.’
‘But it wasn’t as though he was like, one of us,’ Tommy said.
‘No, he was a whole lot better than either of you two! Honestly, you do say some of the most idiotic things Tommy Doyle.’ Lizzie’s voice had begun to rise.
‘Will you shut up, both of you!’ Cora suddenly shouted. She pointed a shaking finger at the twins. ‘As you two don’t know what you are talking about, as usual, I’ll thank you to keep quiet and to show a bit of respect to your sister. You were far more interested in going out to play and causing havoc than paying much attention to Joe. Not that you saw much of your da either for that matter, except when he was home on leave, which was hardly ever.’
‘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.
Lizzie was pleased with her sewing efforts and on the afternoon of the opening night paraded her new dress for Cora’s approval.
‘It looks far better on you than it ever did on me,’ Cora said, generously.
Lizzie secretly agreed and she had to admit that the new outfit made her feel more light-hearted than she had done for a long time. ‘It looks very posh, doesn’t it?’ Lizzie chuckled. ‘Though it feels very strange getting dressed up in an outfit like this only to go to work.’
‘I’m sure it does, but maybe that means you’re ready to have some fun. It’s put a real smile on your face.’
‘You know you don’t have to worry about me, Ma,’ Lizzie said, with an optimism she didn’t really feel. ‘I’ll get through somehow, even though it’s not easy right now.’
‘But I do worry. You’re too young to—’
‘Oh, no, not tonight, Ma, please. It’s going to be hard enough on the first night in a new job and all that.’
‘I know, love, and I’ll be thinking of you.’ Cora stood on tiptoe and, taking Lizzie’s face between her two hands, kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘Safe home. That’s all I’ll say. I look forward to hearing all about it.’
Lizzie arrived at the Pride well before opening time and she had to ring the bell in order to get in.
‘Now there’s a corker if ever I saw one!’ It was Bob who opened the door, an admiring look on his face when Lizzie’s coat fell open as she stepped inside. He gave a long, loud whistle and Lizzie blushed. Normally she would have reciprocated the compliment without thinking, but when she glanced up at Bob it was all she could do not to laugh because he looked like he’d stepped out of a circus ring. His red master-of-ceremonies jacket had seen better days and it was obviously some time since he’d been able to fasten together its gold braided edges.
‘Staff coats this way,’ Bob said, indicating the passageway between the bar and the kitchen, and Lizzie did her best to squeeze past without touching him. As she stepped into the bar she was impressed by the amount of work that had obviously gone into the decoration, even if it did look rather gaudy, for the whole room was festooned with streamers and balloons and cut-out red hearts.
‘I only hope the punters appreciate the effort we’ve put into all this,’ Bob said behind her.
‘I’m sure they will,’ Lizzie said.
‘Well, you’d best get settled in behind the bar, then,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford to open late on our first night.’
Hilda, too, made an effort with her appearance for the opening-night celebrations, although in her position as cleaner and general charlady she didn’t imagine anyone would expect her to come dressed in anything too fancy. She chuckled at the thought. Just as well, for she didn’t possess anything fancy!
The only smart thing she had in her wardrobe was the pale-green serge suit with its pencil slim skirt and nipped in jacket that Stan’s mother had given her for her wedding two years before. She’d worn it then with a plain white cotton blouse that she’d tucked in at the waist and she saw no reason not to wear the same blouse now. She abandoned the headscarf that she normally wrapped round her hair like a turban and discarded the curlers that were usually hidden underneath. Instead, she brushed out her fair curls and styled them into a victory roll that she tucked in and pinned like a pie crust around her head. She had suggested that she and Lizzie might walk down to the Pride together but Lizzie had persuaded her otherwise.
‘It won’t be necessary for you to be there so early, Hilda,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’d wait till things warm up, if I were you. You’re not on duty, so if you time it right you can make an entrance like a lady.’
‘Ooh, just imagine,’ Hilda said, ‘someone announcing: “The Right Honourable Hilda Ogden”,’ She put on a high-pitched voice which was how she imagined a posh voice might sound. ‘But I suppose you’re right, there’s not much point, and I will have to be there bright and early the next morning.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘Not in your best togs! I’d rather not think about what the place might be like by then.’
By the time Hilda arrived, the newly decorated lounge bar was filled with people from the surrounding neighbourhood and it took her several minutes to push her way through to the bar to claim her free drink with the voucher she’d been handed at the door. She saw Lizzie manning the pumps at the far end of the counter while Pat Evans was serving at the other. Both girls seemed to be rushed off their feet so she could do no more than wave at her friend and find a place in the queue. It was Pat who eventually exchanged Hilda’s voucher for a port and lemon, though Lizzie did look up long enough to point to Hilda’s hair and give her the thumbs-up sign of approval. Bob was nowhere to be seen. Hilda bumped into Phyllis Bakewell, an old work colleague who she’d shared a bench with in the munitions factory, and she smiled at her and said hello. Phyllis didn’t seem to recognize her at first and Hilda didn’t know whether to feel pleased or offended.
‘It’s Hilda. Hilda Ogden,’ Hilda said.
‘Of course!’ Phyllis said, after staring for several moments. ‘Sorry, you must have wondered why I was ignoring you, only you look so – so different.’
Hilda patted her hair as if to indicate what the difference might be and was pleased to feel that not one curl had moved out of place.
‘I’d never have known it was you until you opened your mouth, and then I’d have known that voice anywhere,’ Phyllis said.
When Phyllis added her own inimitable loud cackle of a laugh, Hilda was taken aback. ‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ she said, not really knowing what else to say.
‘I meant, I’m only used to seeing you in your work clothes. You look quite different dressed up like that and without your headscarf.’ Phyllis tried to make amends. ‘You look very smart, if I might say so.’
‘Ta very much,’ Hilda said. She decided Phyllis had meant it kindly and managed a smile. ‘I always like to get dressed up for my Stan,’ she added.
‘Is he here? I didn’t know any local lads had arrived back yet.’ Phyllis’s gaze surveyed the room. ‘Thankfully my Ron never went away.’
‘No, no. He was still in the prisoner-of-war camp in Italy, last I heard. But hopefully it’ll not be long now.’ Hilda gave a dreamy smile. ‘He likes to see me dressed up, does my husband – and he’s especially fond of this costume,’ she went on, not wanting to admit that she had only worn it on the one previous occasion. ‘So I thought I’d give it an airing before he actually gets here.’ With that, Hilda pressed her lips tightly together, made a slight humming sound, and moved away to one of the chairs that seemed to be vacant. She found she was sitting next to a glum-looking man she reckoned must be one of Lizzie’s neighbours in Coronation Street. Hilda had seen him before, she recognized him from his days as a volunteer air-raid warden, though he didn’t seem to know her. She remembered that in those days she’d thought of him as ‘a proper gent’ and he had taken his job very seriously. He was always shouting at people about the blackout and he’d never smiled much. She was surprised to see him at the new pub, for as far as she knew he was one of the regulars at the other pub in the area, the Rovers Return. But tonight he was nursing his free pint at the Pride, waiting for the entertainment to begin.
‘I don’t think you’re the only one deserting the Rovers tonight,’ Hilda said with a mischievous smile.
The man stared at her blankly as she sat down. ‘I remember you with your tin hat when you was a warden,’ she said. ‘I was the one you were always shouting at for being the last to clear off the street when the sirens went.’ She giggled. ‘I always seemed to be forgetting something when the doodlebugs were practically overhead.’ He still showed no signs of recognition, so Hilda said, ‘There’s quite a few others as I recognize from the shelters here tonight, folks who said they drank at the Rovers,’ and he finally nodded. ‘Happen like me they’ve come to check out what all the fuss is about, now they’ve done this place up. I wanted to see what they’ve made of it, because I remember when it still had the reputation of not being a place you could take a lady.’
Hilda pursed her lips, not wanting to admit Stan had brought her here on several occasions when it was still called the Tripe Dresser’s Arms. ‘You don’t have to apologize,’ she said stiffly. ‘It doesn’t matter to me where you choose to drink. It’s the landlady up at the Rovers I feel sorry for. She’s the one who’ll be licking her wounds tonight.’
‘If I pays me money I can take me choice of where I sup,’ the man said, and he took a long drink from his pint. ‘Happen Annie Walker will have to look sharp if she wants to keep hold of all her regulars on a Saturday night.’
‘I, of course, have the privilege of working here,’ Hilda said, unable to keep the boastfulness out of her voice, ‘so I’ve come here tonight to offer my support.’ Her hands strayed to the nape of her neck where she detected several loosened strands of hair and she wound them nervously round her finger into a small roll. She gave a satisfied smile. ‘At least, that is, until my Stan gets back from Italy. He’s a prisoner of war over there, been there a while, but if the news is anything to go by, I reckon he could be coming home soon.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ the man said. ‘Haven’t you heard what’s been going on in Germany? Our boys have been involved in some kind of bombing raids over there, a place called Dresden. That could set things back a fair bit, so it’s not over yet.’ Before he could say more, Phyllis Bakewell had pushed her way through the crowd and had come to sit with them followed by an even larger lady with a strident voice who, it seemed, ran the corner shop where Phyllis was registered with her ration coupons. From their ongoing argument it seemed the two had had many a clash with Phyllis having strong words to say about the lack of availability of certain food items for the shop’s regular customers. She practically accused the shopkeeper of running a black market, but before the larger woman could reply, Phyllis suddenly changed tack and turned to Hilda.
‘So, you say your husband’s still overseas. Stan Ogden you said his name was? – how can you be sure they’ll let him come home soon?’ she said as she set down her Campari and soda on the little table between them and chortled as she tried to twist her outsized body in the chair so that she could face Hilda.
‘Of course they will, and don’t you be saying otherwise,’ Hilda said, shocked at the suggestion.
‘I’d be careful what you wish for,’ another voice said, ‘for you may not want him home if it’s the Stan Ogden I remember.’ Hilda looked up, horrified, particularly as she didn’t know the man who now joined the group, but it seemed it was Ron Bakewell, Phyllis’s husband, and that he’d known Stan as a young lad. Ron sat down. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I hope you’ve got a job that pays well, cos otherwise you’ll be hard put to keep his body and soul together as well as your own.’ There was a general titter of amusement among the group and Hilda bristled. She was about to respond with a sharp-tongued reply but Ron turned away from her as he pulled up a stool so that he could sit next to his wife.
‘If you’ve not, maybe he won’t want to come home after all,’ Phyllis said as he joined them. ‘It might dawn on him that he’d be better off staying where he is with guaranteed sunshine and regular meals.’
At that, everyone in the little group laughed and Hilda, uncertain at first, decided to join in, somehow managing to reassure herself that it was just a joke and that they meant no harm. Over the years she’d often been the butt of others’ jokes, but she had found that if she smiled and didn’t object, their playful banter would sometimes make her feel as if she was one of them, even if she wasn’t.
It had been like that with the kids she went to school with, when she’d tried so hard to be one of the gang. They’d teased her mercilessly, always picking on her faults and shortcomings, never seeing any good in her. They used to call her ‘two planks’. ‘Cos that’s what you’re as thick as,’ they’d chant when they were out in the schoolyard during playtime or racing off home at the end of the day. Then they would scamper away, leaving her on her own with no way to defend herself against any of the gangs from other schools and with no chance of running fast enough to catch up with them. How she’d hated those children then. Most of them were worse off than her family was, though it was hard for her to remember that when they tried to lord it over her pretending that they weren’t. But unlike many of the others, she and her two brothers at least had something to eat most days and they had clothes to wear, even if they didn’t always have shoes. She’d also consoled herself that her mother and father had shown her some love – when they weren’t drunk. But it wasn’t in her nature to call the other kids bad names, however poor or stupid they were.
In the end she’d had the last laugh over those she considered to be ‘uppity’, because here she was now, a married woman with an important job in a new pub. A job that paid her enough to rent two rooms in the heart of Weatherfield. Sadly, so many of the young lads had been killed or injured in the war, while most of the girls she knew had made disastrous marriages that usually involved a trail of children, even at their young age. ‘I wasn’t too thick to recognize a good ’un when I met my Stan,’ she reminded herself whenever she thought back to those difficult school years. ‘I spotted him as the man for me right from the start, and even if he didn’t exactly match up to Clark Gable, he was smart enough to live out most of the war in a prisoner-of-war camp in the sun.’
Suddenly a loud voice was calling for hush and Hilda, remembering where she was, saw that her new boss, Bob Bennett, was banging on an empty pint mug with a spoon. He had come on stage wearing a top hat that looked as old as his master-of-ceremonies outfit and was perched uncomfortably on the top of his head, but as he began to speak he took the hat off and stood it upside down on a chair by the microphone.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could take a few minutes of your time,’ Bob began. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to shout while they’re still playing about with the electrics back there, so I hope you can all hear me.’
There were shouts of, ‘Get on with it before the lights go out,’ and ‘Anyone got a spare bob for the meter?’ but Bob was not a stranger to projecting his voice.
‘It might seem strange to be celebrating the reopening of our lovely new pub on a Wednesday night,’ Bob continued, ‘but then as you know this is no ordinary Wednesday night.’ He paused while he scanned the room, taking in the large crowd. Then he lifted the tankard and shouted, ‘This is Valentine’s night.’
‘I’ll drink to that!’ someone called out.
‘Indeed!’ said Bob, raising his pint pot in the air once more. ‘So let’s have a toast to all our brave soldiers, especially to our absent loved ones to let them know we’re missing them and waiting for them to come safely home.’ Then he turned his head in different directions as he mouthed the words, ‘and we’re keeping the bed warm’ with an exaggerated wink, and several individual cheers went up. ‘And let’s have another toast,’ Bob went on, ‘to all those who’ve made it here today, on this very special, romantic night. Let’s raise our glasses to Saint Valentine.’ He turned towards Lizzie as he lifted his glass.
‘To Saint Valentine!’ everyone in the room responded.
‘To the end of the war!’ someone else called out and a rousing cheer went up again. As the room quietened, Hilda could hear Ron Bakewell muttering to his wife about possible delays to the war ending because of Dresden and the RAF bombers and Phyllis passed the news on like the Chinese whispers game they used to play in school. But Hilda had set her mind on the thought that the war was ending and that Stan would be home soon and she didn’t want to hear anything to the contrary, so she stood up and began edging her way towards the other end of the counter where she could see Lizzie was still swapping vouchers for free drinks.
‘All we want now,’ Bob was speaking again, ‘is for the war to end sooner than they’ve been forecasting recently.’
For a moment Hilda paused as people cheered and banged their fists on the tables.
‘For when that happens, an even greater celebration will be in order,’ he said.
‘How about a free jar every night of the week?’ a voice called out, and it took some time for the ripples of laughter to die down.
Bob raised his hand for silence. ‘I can’t promise free booze, but I can guarantee that having fun is what this pub is all about.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘And that’s what makes it different from any other pub in the area. So just make sure you don’t get them confused. “Any excuse for a knees-up” is our motto, because you must admit fun has been in rather short supply of late.’
Hilda had finally reached Lizzie and she leaned over the counter. ‘From where I’m standing, Bob Bennett looks like’s never been short of having a bit of fun,’ she said quietly, then she pursed her lips.
‘I’m sure that’s true,’ Lizzie said with a grin.
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Hilda said. ‘Every time I look at him he seems to have his hand on someone’s backside. And I’m just making sure it isn’t mine.’
Lizzie raised her eyebrows.
‘And he never gets within spitting distance of you that he isn’t putting his arm round you and giving you a quick squeeze. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ Hilda added wagging her finger at Lizzie.
Now Lizzie laughed. ‘I can’t say as I’ve noticed, Hilda, honestly, I’ve been that busy, but I’m sure he means no harm.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Hilda said, ‘though I’m not surprised tonight when you’ve got that really pretty frock on. It’s far too nice for work. But I can tell you now I’ll have something to say if he lays one finger on me.’
‘I don’t know how he’s resisted that tonight, Hilda,’ Lizzie said. Hilda turned to look at her sharply, not sure what to make of the remark. ‘In fact, you’ll have to look out for all the men. No, I mean it,’ Lizzie said when Hilda protested. ‘I’ve not seen you dressed up like that before and I’ve been wanting to tell you since you first came in, that you look lovely. I love the way you’ve brushed out your hair too,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s very in vogue, and it really suits you. It’s good to see what’s been hidden underneath your headscarf all this time. I can see I’ll have to persuade you to leave off with your curlers more often.’
Hilda smiled coyly now. ‘Ta very much.’ She chuckled, her face suffused bright pink, and she had to turn her head away so that Lizzie wouldn’t see her eyes glistening. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘Though it won’t be me as wins the prize tonight.’
Bob’s welcome speech was going down well, for everyone was smiling now and seemed in cheerful mood. Hilda kept hearing grunts of ‘hear, hear’ and saw nods of agreement all around as Bob continued speaking.
‘So, are we ready for the fun and entertainment that’s about to begin right here and right now?’ Bob leaned forward. He cupped his hand behind one ear and waited until the crowd had shouted, ‘Yes!’
‘OK, then first things first,’ Bob said. ‘As you may have noticed, our staff have made a special effort to dress up for you tonight and don’t they all look splendid?’ He paused while a cheer went up and there was a round of applause. ‘Well, we promised a prize for the best dressed and I’m sure you’ll all agree that that prize must go to our terrific barmaid – Miss Lizzie Doyle! A round of applause ladies and gentlemen, please.’
Lizzie was surprised and pleased when her name was called and there were approving shouts and wolf whistles from the crowd as Bob pulled her up onto the stage and then handed her a bottle of gin.
‘Congratulations and well done to Lizzie,’ Bob said, putting his arm round her shoulders and pulling her towards him in a flamboyant embrace. ‘I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone here when I say that we look forward to seeing you dressed up every night,’ he said, then he gave her a clumsy embrace and Lizzie was aware once more that she would need to keep her eye on him as he held on to her for several moments longer than was necessary while his hands slid down her dress to cup her backside and give it a pinch. She turned her head sharply when she realized he was going to kiss her, and his lips landed on her cheek but he recovered quickly and didn’t let his smile drop. He patted Lizzie playfully. ‘Now, please enjoy the rest of the evening,’ Bob said. ‘The first drink, as you all know, is on the house.’
‘Been watering down the beer already?’ some wag shouted and everyone laughed again, more loudly this time.
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ was Bob’s response when he could make himself heard once more, and his tone was still jocular.
Hilda frowned. ‘There’s many a truth in jest, as my mother used to say, so I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for that one,’ she muttered, though no one heard her for Bob was still talking.
‘All I can say is that the Rovers Return must be deserted tonight,’ Bob said with a broad grin. ‘And that’s how I hope it’ll remain every night from now on. Remember, Saturday nights are cabaret nights and only the best will do for the Pride of Weatherfield. We’ll be providing you with top-class singers and the funniest comics this side of the Pennines. And of course, at any time there could be the odd bit of magic thrown in.’ As he said that, he turned over the top hat that he’d parked on the chair and shook it vigorously before showing it to the crowd. People leaned forward, straining to see what was inside, and they looked disappointed when they saw nothing more than a black lining. So a genuine gasp went up when Bob reached inside and, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist, began producing a seemingly endless stream of brightly coloured silk scarves. When the flow of fresh scarves had stopped and he had dropped them all on to the stage, he stooped to pick them up and began knotting them together, giving one end of the string to a member of the audience to hold and stretching out the whole string for everyone to see. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the spontaneous rumble of applause.
‘Thank you, ladies and gents,’ he said. ‘Now – let the evening’s entertainment begin!’ He was about to make a grand gesture to herald the entrance of their first guest when there was a shout of, ‘Three cheers for the Pride of Weatherfield!’ and, with a chinking of glasses, a chorus of assorted voices bellowed, ‘Hip, hip, hurray!’ several times.
Bob looked delighted, then looked up at the clock on the wall. He took a moment to check that the microphone was working and then yelled, ‘Now, will you please put your hands together in the traditional way, and give a warm welcome to our own Weatherfield nightingale, Miss Jenny Farrington!’
Lizzie was run off her feet for the rest of the evening once the show had begun. She was pulling pints, mostly for the men, and mixing port with lemon, and gin with tonic for most of the ladies once the singer had begun her act. She couldn’t help thinking about the Rovers Return, and feeling sorry for the landlady of the pub that Bob saw as his main rival. Could there possibly be enough people in the neighbourhood to fill both pubs, she wondered, now that all the GIs had shipped out?
Lizzie knew Elsie Tanner often drank in the Rovers, but not tonight, she thought, seeing her neighbour making her way to the bar.
‘My, don’t you look posh,’ Elsie said, peering over the counter to admire the full effect of Lizzie’s dress. ‘No wonder I heard him say you’d won the prize. That really is gorgeous, and the colour suits you. You’re very talented, you know.’
‘I didn’t make it from scratch,’ Lizzie protested.
‘As good as, from what I saw. I can’t believe it’s the same old dress you showed me. I tell you something, you can make me one the next time I get married.’
Lizzie laughed.
‘I’m serious,’ Elsie said, ‘but in the meantime I’ll have a G & T when you’ve got a minute.’ Elsie brandished her voucher. ‘So who’s in tonight to appreciate this work of art? Though I don’t suppose you’re familiar with enough of the locals to know who’s who.’
‘Afraid not.’ Lizzie sighed. ‘Though right now I’m too tired to notice anyone. I feel done in already. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not used to these kinds of hours. I’ve been run off my feet since I got here and the night’s only halfway through!’
‘I think it’s busier than anyone thought it was going to be,’ Elsie said. ‘It’s made quite an impact. Most of the Rovers seem to be here tonight. Here, this might help.’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and offered one to Lizzie.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘I’m sure it won’t always be like this,’ she said, ‘but once word got out that we had a free round of drinks on offer it wasn’t surprising the crowds came out.’
‘’ark at you with the we,’ Elsie laughed. ‘You’ve not been here five minutes.’
Lizzie blushed. ‘I know, but I do feel right at home. Anyway, I’d rather be kept busy, no time to think.’
‘The devil makes work for idle hands, eh?’ Elsie said. ‘Isn’t that what they say?’
Lizzie felt the warmth rush to her cheeks. ‘Oh, thanks very much!’ she said and laughed.
‘It’s one of the favourite sayings of the Rovers’ very own Ena Sharples,’ Elsie said. ‘She’s the one I was telling you about who can bring two walls together any day of the week.’
‘Is she here tonight?’ Lizzie said. ‘Maybe I’ll get to see her in the flesh.’
Elsie looked around. ‘She is indeed, with her two cronies as ever.’
‘So, which one is she? Or can I guess?’
‘Look over there and I’m sure you can tell me,’ Elsie said and she pointed across the smoke-filled room. Lizzie’s first gaze was drawn to a table where a young man was sitting alone, nursing a pint as he scanned the room. There was something about his face and she found it hard to look away. His dark hair was cut very short as though he was in the services, but what caught her attention was his fine moustache. For a moment he looked so familiar that Lizzie almost cried ‘Joe!’ and she made an involuntary movement towards him.
‘Are you all right?’ Elsie asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ Lizzie said. ‘It was nothing, really.’ She closed her eyes for a few moments and took some deep breaths. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.’ She forced her eyes open. ‘Now, show me again, where’s this Ena Sharples.’
Elsie pointed and this time Lizzie concentrated on searching for a table with three older women as she peered into the haze. They seemed to have placed themselves as far away as they could from the stage but Lizzie recognized Ena now from Elsie’s description. She paused for a moment to steady her breathing.
‘I’d say she’s the one on that far table,’ Lizzie said eventually. ‘The woman with the hat and coat and the miserable face.’ As she watched, the woman she’d decided must be Ena took off her hat, revealing a hairnet that completely covered her mousey-coloured hair. She had a glowering look on her face and she was sitting with her arms firmly folded across her ample chest.
‘Spot on.’ Elsie clapped her hands. ‘That’s our Ena, as usual with her two guardian angels, Minnie and Martha, though who looks after who there I’m not sure.’
‘Do you think they might change their allegiance, then?’ Lizzie said. ‘Drinking in here from now on instead of the Rovers?’
‘I don’t really know,’ Elsie said but she looked doubtful.
‘And how about you?’
Elsie shrugged. ‘We’ll have to see about that, but I’m not sure it’s really possible to change when you’ve been around as long as we all have. You know, if you support United you can’t suddenly change your colours and become a City supporter. You’re a red for life.’
‘Spoken like a true fan, if I may say so,’ a man’s voice suddenly interjected and Lizzie looked up to find she was staring directly into the laughing eyes of the man she had momentarily mistaken for Joe. Close to, to her relief, he was nothing like Joe, though she had to admit he was good-looking and she was finding it difficult to ignore his warm, flirtatious smile.
‘And which side do you come down on? It’s Lizzie, I believe, isn’t it?’ he asked, not shifting his gaze from her face.
Lizzie nodded. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said, but then found for once she was lost for words. ‘I can’t say I’m much of a supporter of either of them,’ she said at last, ‘Mr …?’
‘Steve Carter.’ The man put his hand across the counter.
Lizzie shook it tentatively. ‘I don’t really know much about football.’
‘But you can’t live round here without declaring that you’re on one side or the other,’ Elsie said. ‘You’ve got brothers, so you should know.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Lizzie said. ‘They do talk rather a lot about United if they talk of any team, so I suppose, if I’m honest, I lean that way a bit too.’
‘Me, I blow whichever way the wind blows,’ Elsie said. ‘How about you, Steve?’ She turned to face him as she said this, lifting her eyebrows suggestively.
‘I must admit, I’m a Reds’ fan,’ Steve said. His eyes flickered from Lizzie’s face but only for a moment.
‘Maybe when you’re talking about which pub you’d choose to drink in, as we were,’ Lizzie said, ‘it’s not quite so all-embracing. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, for life, does it? Not like it seems to be with football.’
Steve laughed. ‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘I like to think people can be a little more flexible.’
‘It might be more fun to share things out a bit when it comes to pubs.’ Elsie grinned. ‘Like, sometimes I might drink at the Rovers, sometimes here. Then there mightn’t be so many fallings out.’
‘Nothing to stop you going to both on the same night if you’ve a mind,’ Steve laughed.
‘Do you know?’ Elsie pretended to think. ‘I might even do that,’ she said and her grin expanded into a personal smile that looked like she’d saved it just for him. ‘So tell me, Steve, you’re not from round here, are you? I don’t reckon I’ve seen you in any of the locals. Have you ever been drinking in the Rovers Return?’
‘Not yet,’ Steve said. ‘But as I’m thinking of moving into the area I’m sure I’ll get to it eventually. I thought I’d try this one first as it was new.’ He turned to look directly at Lizzie as he said this, but she was suddenly busy searching for a cloth to dry the glasses.
‘Well, I normally go the Rovers,’ Elsie said as if she hadn’t noticed him addressing Lizzie. ‘But I’m prepared to give this place a chance. I’ll wait and see what else they have to offer.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘I go to the Rovers more out of habit. It’s not as though Annie Walker’d miss me. She’s the landlady there,’ she explained. ‘She doesn’t even like me. If anything, it’s just the opposite. Let me tell you, she’s given me a lot of grief over the years. When I first came to live in Coronation Street, I admit I was too young to be drinking legally but didn’t she like to show me up, especially if I was with a bloke? It didn’t matter what he ordered, she only let me drink lemonade. And she always seemed to be looking down her nose at me, like she thought she was too good to give the likes of me the time of day.’ She gave an ironic laugh. ‘She still does. It would serve her right if I were to switch my drinking habits and start coming here instead.’
‘I’ll be sure to try out the Rovers on your recommendation then,’ Steve turned back to Elsie and laughed. Elsie flashed him another of her special smiles and said, ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you there.’
Steve grinned and turned away. ‘And I’m sure I’ll be back here again to see you, Lizzie,’ he said, giving her the full beam of his smile. ‘But for now, can you pull me another pint, please?’
By the time Bob had closed the bar and cashed up the till, Lizzie was hovering outside the kitchen, ready to go. She was feeling the effects of having been on her feet all evening and couldn’t wait to get home.
‘Well, that was a good day’s work,’ Bob said.
‘Only it feels more like a day and a half,’ Lizzie said. ‘I wonder what the weather’s like out there now? Everyone was coming in well bundled up, saying it was getting colder, so I hope it’s not snowing.’
‘Would you like me to see you home?’ Bob said. ‘Then it won’t matter about the weather, I’ll keep you safe and warm.’ He reached out to put his arm round her waist.
‘No, thanks,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.’ She stepped away so that he ended up embracing the air.
‘Bar work can be tough going,’ he said as if nothing had happened.
‘It’s certainly that,’ Lizzie said. ‘So, I’ll be off home now and I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She moved quickly towards the front entrance and was relieved that he didn’t try to follow. She pulled open the doors and to her surprise found Hilda sheltering in the doorway.
‘What’s up with you?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I thought you’d long gone. Is anything wrong?’
‘Nowt’s wrong. I was waiting for you, that’s all,’ Hilda said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but it had started to snow a bit and I know it’s not far but it’s a dark night and I thought you might like some company.’
Lizzie looked up at the black sky where the clouds had covered what was left of the moon.
‘No, of course I don’t mind. I’m glad to see you. But it’s so cold you must be frozen.’ Lizzie sank her hands deep into her coat pockets.
‘It is a bit parky,’ Hilda admitted and almost immediately linked arms and pulled Lizzie closer to her. ‘Though I’m pleased to see the snow didn’t stick. It’s bad enough that it made the cobbles all slippery, so take care as you walk.’
‘Can you believe it’s the end of our first day, or should I say night, at the Pride?’ Lizzie said.
‘You were certainly rushed off your feet. I wonder if it will always be like that?’
‘I hope not,’ Lizzie said. ‘I don’t mind being busy in general but I felt as if I was stuck to the pumps all night.’
‘That was a shame. You looked so bonny in that lovely dress,’ Hilda said, ‘but no one could see it. You hardly had time to show it off.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘Maybe I’ll get to wear it again another night. Just wait until I tell Ma I won the prize.’
‘That’s a great way to start a new job,’ Hilda said. ‘I don’t reckon it’ll feel the same when I start work first thing in the morning.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t even want to think of what I might find.’
‘I’m sorry I had no time to have a check round before I left,’ Lizzie said. ‘I did mean to. So I hope there won’t be too much of a disgusting mess for you to clean up.’
Hilda’s cackling laugh pierced the gloom. ‘That’s the first time I’ve had anyone worry about that!’
‘Well, I’ve worked in schools so I know how unappetizing a cleaner’s job can be,’ Lizzie said with some feeling.
‘Was you a teacher then?’ Hilda sounded surprised. ‘I always knew you were clever, much cleverer than me at any rate.’
‘I went to a training college after I got my higher certificate, but I never finished,’ Lizzie said.
‘That’s a shame. Why was that then?’
The question was straightforward enough but it caught Lizzie by surprise and for a moment she wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘Life got in the way, I suppose,’ she said eventually. ‘What with the war and – and all, th-things didn’t work out quite as I’d planned.’ She fumbled to find a handkerchief and wiped away the tears that were threatening to drip off the end of her nose. ‘My da was killed and I needed to find a job quickly. Once his wages stopped coming in, I had to earn some money to help support my … my ma and …’ She paused and bit her lip. ‘… And the boys.’
‘I bet you could’ve earned much more as a teacher than a barmaid,’ Hilda said.
‘Of course, if I could have seen it through, but i-it didn’t work out.’ She was caught up for a moment in her memories. ‘Maybe one day …’
‘I’m right sorry,’ Hilda said, her voice soft, and for the next few minutes they continued walking in silence.
‘Ne’er mind, eh?’ Hilda said eventually with a sigh, ‘I don’t suppose any of that will matter once you’re wed. You’ll be stopping at home to look after the babies.’
Lizzie looked surprised. ‘Why? Will you be giving up work as soon as you’re in the family way?’
‘Well, once Stan finds a job, maybe I will, but we’re not in the same class as you. Besides, it could take him a while,’ Hilda said defensively. ‘Though how on earth we’ll go on once the kiddies start arriving, goodness only knows.’
‘I suppose things have a way of working out.’ Lizzie patted Hilda’s arm.
‘I suppose they do.’ Hilda sighed. ‘He’s a good man, is my husband, despite what some folk say, and I know he’ll do his best by me if he can. I do love him, you know.’
‘I don’t doubt it, Hilda,’ Lizzie said.
‘And I’m sure you’ll find someone to love soon. Once the young men start coming back from the war.’
‘Oh, but I don’t want anyone,’ Lizzie said quickly. ‘I’ve had my chance and there won’t be another one for me.’
Hilda drew in her breath. ‘Don’t say that. You don’t know how you’ll feel when—’
‘Yes, I do,’ Lizzie cut in. ‘No one can replace Joe, I’m quite sure of that.’
Hilda hesitated before asking. ‘Was Joe your young man?’
Lizzie nodded.
‘You mean you was stepping out?’
‘More than that. We were going to get married.’
‘What happened to him?’ Hilda said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘He was a pilot …’ Lizzie took a deep breath. ‘He – he got shot down. And I’ll never find anyone like Joe; he was very, very special.’ Lizzie’s voice suddenly cracked.
‘Oh, gosh! I’m sorry,’ Hilda said. She stopped walking and turned to give Lizzie a sudden hug. ‘I had no idea. But I’m sure you’ll find someone else.’
Lizzie clung to her for a moment. ‘No, I shan’t,’ she whispered.
‘How can you be so certain?’ Hilda asked, pulling away.
‘Because I shan’t be looking,’ Lizzie said resolutely and she wiped her face with her handkerchief trying to wipe away the sudden smiling image of Steve Carter that flashed in front of her eyes.
Chapter 3 (#u32a89401-71ce-5f73-9afb-1f4cd48eaf94)
Spring 1945
Although they didn’t know it at the time, by the end of March the residents of Weatherfield had seen the last of the V1 and V2 rockets that had done so much damage to people and property in England. The attacks had been random. A whining whistle followed by a short-lived silence then the shattering devastation of the giant bomb. It was never possible to predict when and where it would land, so that they became afraid to trust the silence. Now how could they believe they really had heard the last warning screeches of the air-raid sirens and the reassuring signals for the all clear? But by the middle of April, when no new explosions had been heard for several weeks, everyone began to hope that it was true, that they had seen the last of the flying bombs.
As spring officially arrived and the hours of daylight lengthened, so the mood of the residents of Weatherfield lifted and the weariness that had bogged them down for months was replaced by an atmosphere of cautious optimism. The news on the street was that the Germans were in retreat and the Nazis were floundering as the allies advanced, although it still took some time for the people of Weatherfield to believe that the war was actually about to end as the peace treaty had not yet been signed. But it was widely accepted that an official announcement would soon be forthcoming and there was a feeling of restlessness and suppressed excitement in the air as preparations began for the celebration of victory and there was much talk of street parties and the forthcoming bank holiday.
Annie Walker, spurred on by her husband’s letters to think that he might be returning home soon, began to think about organizing a street party to celebrate VE day – Victory in Europe. It would be a local party where the Rovers Return would feature prominently. She had been disturbed by the successful appearance of the refurbished Pride of Weatherfield so close to her own doorstep and had been thinking about what she should do in order to hold on to her customers. After several sleepless nights she discussed her ideas with her trusted barmaid Gracie.
‘If we were able to organize the biggest and best street party ever seen in Weatherfield,’ Annie said, ‘it might encourage some of the locals who’ve been deserting us of late to come back to drink here again. We need to put the Rovers Return back once more at the heart of the community, where it belongs. What do you think, Gracie?’
‘I think that sounds like an excellent idea,’ Gracie said. ‘And it would give you an excuse to go over to the Pride to tell them what we’re planning and to find out what they’re up to at the same time.’
Annie looked thoughtful, her brow furrowed as she absorbed Gracie’s suggestion.
‘Perhaps you could get some of our old regulars together into some kind of organizing committee,’ Gracie said. ‘That would make people feel more committed.’
Annie suddenly looked determined. ‘You’re right. The Pride might be enticing some of our customers away on a Saturday night with their second-rate cabaret acts, but I’m blowed if I’m going to let them seduce all our clientele permanently, like the Pied Piper. We can’t have Jack coming home to find an empty pub, thinking we’ve no customers left, now can we?’ She gave a sardonic laugh, though she knew it was really no laughing matter, not when she’d spent most of the war years working hard to prove how well she had learned to balance the job of running the pub single-handed, alongside her busy role as the mother of two young children.
Gracie’s eyes lit up. ‘We could put up notices about the party in the bar and ask people to put them in their windows.’ Annie laughed at her enthusiasm. ‘That’s the spirit – though of course the war hasn’t officially ended yet.’
‘No, but surely it soon will?’ Gracie sounded anxious.
For a moment Annie had a dreamy smile on her face. ‘Of course it will. And all the soldiers will come flooding home,’ she said, ‘eager to start their new life.’
‘I know I for one can’t wait to make a fresh start,’ Gracie said with a sigh. ‘It seems ages since Chuck and all the other GIs left for Europe. I can’t wait to get off to America. As soon as Chuck sends for me, when he’s posted back home I’ll be off like a shot, believe you me.’
Annie had a wistful look as she glanced over to the barmaid she had come to love and trust. ‘I know, my dear, though I so hate the thought of losing you, but all the more reason why we need to make this work. It will be doubling as a farewell party.’
‘Will you be looking to find my replacement before I go,’ Gracie asked, ‘so that I’ll have time to show the new girl the ropes? She could help us to organize the party too.’
‘Actually my dear, I already have somebody in mind.’ Annie’s lips were taut but she forced them into a smile. ‘Or should I say, Jack has. He’s recommended I hire someone who has been serving with him who will apparently be coming home soon. He would be more of a bar manager.’ She paused. ‘It seems I am awaiting his call.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. I won’t be leaving you in the lurch when Chuck sends for me,’ Gracie said. ‘And if Jack likes him then I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
Annie nodded. ‘An extra pair of hands is always helpful.’ She smiled and patted Gracie’s hand. ‘Though it won’t be easy for someone to fill your shoes, you know.’
The next morning Hilda was putting the finishing touches to the freshly whitened front step at the Pride when a smart-looking lady, all dressed up in her Sunday best, stopped by the front entrance. Hilda suddenly felt flustered, unsure about speaking to her, but she didn’t have to worry because Annie Walker spoke to her, asking in clipped tones, ‘Is Mr Bennett available? Could you tell him Mrs Walker from the Rovers Return would like a word with him?’
‘Yes, of course,’ was all Hilda could manage and, abandoning her cleaning equipment, she rushed inside to look for Bob.
‘Mrs Walker!’ Bob’s voice boomed out as he stood by the door, arms akimbo. ‘We meet at last. I’ve heard a lot about you. To what do I owe the honour?’
‘I’ve come to welcome you to Weatherfield,’ Annie said with a tight smile.
Bob gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Well, isn’t that nice and neighbourly? Maybe you’d better come in and sit down.’ He indicated a table in the public bar. ‘Mrs Ogden, ask Lizzie if she can rustle up tea for two,’ he said when they were both seated. He didn’t look in Hilda’s direction, for he was still eyeing Annie up and down. Hilda wasn’t sure whether she should drop a curtsey like she’d seen maids do in the films, so she nodded her head before rushing off to the kitchen where Lizzie was preparing for the dinnertime opening. Hilda watched as Lizzie filled a small teapot from the permanently simmering cauldron then quickly piled a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes onto a tray. Hilda was astonished when Lizzie added a few biscuits on a plate. ‘Bob always insists on having some of these mid-morning,’ Lizzie said, ‘so why shouldn’t Mrs Walker have some as well?’
The two giggled and Hilda went off to serve the tray. Lizzie slipped into the bar and began busily wiping glasses behind the counter but she was careful to stand in a spot where she knew she couldn’t be seen and she beckoned Hilda to join her.
When Hilda had left the tray, Bob leaned back and flung one arm carelessly across the back of the banquette where he was sitting opposite Annie. ‘Now then,’ he said, ‘what do you really want?’ His eyes narrowed and his tone was far from pleasant, but Annie chose to ignore it.
‘I told you,’ she said. ‘It’s a social call. I hope you’re settling in well and managing to find enough customers.’
‘Poof,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘That’s not a problem! Trade couldn’t be better.’ Bob beamed. ‘But surely you haven’t come here to ask me that?’
‘I presume you’ve reconnected with the old Tripe Dresser’s clientele,’ Annie continued in her most condescending tone as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I always think it’s good to have a core of loyal customers.’
‘We’ve had a packed house every night. So much so I’ve been wondering whether there’s going to be enough room for both of us in this neighbourhood.’ He frowned suddenly and leaned forward, his hand to his mouth. ‘Oh my goodness, is that what you’ve come to tell me? The competition’s getting to you already?’
Annie stared at him scornfully while Bob merely spread his hands. ‘Well, you know what they say. All’s fair in love and war.’ Annie bristled at that, though her smile didn’t waver but Bob cut in before she could respond. ‘How soon after peace is declared are you expecting your husband back?’ he said. ‘It must be so difficult juggling everything on your own.’
‘No doubt he’ll be home as soon as his services to his country are no longer required,’ Annie said, her jaw stiff. ‘But at the moment, as you must know, they still have unfinished business to see to out there and I’m sure you will understand that they can’t shirk their duties, even when the war is finally over. Not that any of them would want to.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘But then, I take it you weren’t actually called up into the fighting forces, were you? So maybe you aren’t aware of how these things work.’
At that Bob stopped smiling, but Annie continued speaking. ‘As I said, this is a courtesy call. I thought I would inform you of our intentions regarding VE day when it finally arrives.’
‘Oh, that,’ Bob said, with a disparaging wave of his hand. ‘I’m doing my own thing, here.’ Annie nevertheless went on to explain about the street party.
‘Well, I have no such laudable intentions,’ Bob said with a grin. ‘So if the street wants a party, feel free to organize one.’
They glared at each other for a moment. ‘However …’ An unctuous smile spread across Bob’s face. ‘I might be able to do you a favour.’
‘Oh?’ Annie said.
‘I could supply you with most of the food at a price you won’t be able to get anywhere else.’
Annie stiffened, not sure what to make of the generous-sounding offer, not sure if she could trust him. She was aware that he had not taken his steely grey eyes off her face though she was unable to read his expression.
‘I can assure you,’ Bob said, ‘you won’t get a better deal anywhere in the county.’
Annie thought for a moment. ‘I’ll inform the organizing committee as they’ll be responsible for the food,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell them to contact you, but I doubt they’ll need any of your help, they’re a well-oiled machine.’ In her mind, Annie tried to square this statement with the thought of Elsie lounging around the bar at the Rovers with a fag in her mouth.
‘Then I shall look forward to doing business with the esteemed ladies of Coronation Street,’ Bob said. ‘And perhaps, while we’re talking business, I could offer the services of some of my working colleagues who specialize in security?’
‘Security?’ Annie was puzzled.
Bob shrugged. ‘You never know when security guards might be needed these days, particularly when there’s going to be large crowds and alcohol flowing – a heady mix.’
Annie’s brows shot up. ‘I don’t know where you lived before, Mr Bennett,’ she said, her voice dripping with scorn, ‘but may I remind you that this is Coronation Street we’re talking about, and I certainly don’t anticipate the need for security guards at a Weatherfield street party.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Bob said. ‘That will free them up to cover the special cabaret night we’re planning for VE night, when we’ll no doubt have another full house.’ Bob had so far ignored the tea and now he leaned across the table and helped himself to a digestive biscuit from the plate. ‘So, if that’s everything, then you’ll have to excuse me as I have some rather pressing business to attend to.’ He stood up. ‘No doubt our paths will cross again.’
Annie still felt cross about Bob Bennett’s brusqueness as she sketched an outline of her visit to the Pride later that evening when she was alone with Gracie but she was determined to waste no time in putting together a list of regulars they might approach to become part of the organizing committee for the eventual VE street party.
‘Security guards, indeed!’ Annie snapped. ‘Where does he think he’s living?’
‘All we have to do is involve Mrs Sharples and there’ll be no need for any kind of security guards!’ Gracie laughed and even Annie allowed a smile to play on her lips.
‘Just as well, for I don’t see how we could have a Coronation Street committee that didn’t involve Ena Sharples, do you?’ she said.
Gracie laughed again. ‘Fat chance. And she’ll no doubt want to include Minnie Caldwell and Martha Longhurst as well.’
‘So, what about adding Ida Barlow?’ Annie suggested. ‘Not much gets past her and I think she’d be very conscientious.’
‘And then there’s Elsie Foyle from the corner shop. She should know about the catering side of things if anybody does,’ Gracie said. ‘Though I imagine that once the war is officially over, food will become more readily available.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Annie said. ‘They’ve been talking about the possibility of lots more things becoming scarce in the coming months, even after the war ends.’
‘Then all the more reason to have Mrs Foyle. Hopefully, she’ll have better access than most to whatever supplies are available.’ Gracie laughed. ‘And whether or not she decides to take up Bob Bennett’s offer will be up to her.’ She gave a mischievous grin. ‘And what about Elsie Tanner?’
‘What about her?’ Annie swallowed hard, her jaw set firm.
‘I know she’s not your favourite person, but you’ve got to admit she is extremely resourceful and would be an asset to any such committee.’
‘Is that what they call it?’ Annie said, drawing her lips into a thin line, though she did grudgingly add Elsie’s name to the list.
Steve Carter stood outside the Rovers Return, thinking how much better it would look with a fresh coat of paint. It was not what he had imagined when Jack Walker, who had served with him in the Fusiliers, talked about the local pub he ran with his wife in Weatherfield. Perhaps painting the outside was something he could offer to do almost immediately, something that would endear him to Mrs Walker in case Jack’s recommendation wasn’t enough.
Despite having walked a long way from the tram, he was early for his appointment, so he continued slowly up the street and back again checking out the neighbourhood. He was trying not to limp or show any sign of weakness, determined to ignore the dull ache that was plaguing him today in his injured leg. He took every opportunity to exercise his leg as he still marvelled at the fact that he could walk at all, the doctors in the battlefield hospital having told him he never would. On his return home from the front, he’d battled his way through a vigorous rehabilitation programme, determined to prove them wrong, and here he was, managing well enough, even though there were still dark days when the pain made it difficult for him to cope.
Jack had visited him in the field hospital on several occasions after the Jeep Steve had been driving had overturned, badly injuring his leg. When Steve had eventually heard he was being repatriated and invalided out of the army he could hardly believe his luck when Jack suggested he contact his wife Annie regarding a possible job in the pub they ran together.
‘How can I ever repay you?’ Steve asked.
‘By working hard,’ Jack said and chuckled. ‘You’ll be making life a bloomin’ sight easier for me when I finally get out of this hellhole.’
‘Let’s hope that won’t be too long. Sorry I’m leaving you behind to do the mopping up.’
‘Never you mind that, now. You’re only … how old are you, lad? Twenty-five, twenty-six?’
‘Actually, I’m twenty-eight,’ Steve corrected him.
‘Still pretty young in my book,’ Jack said, ‘and thankfully still with your whole life ahead of you. All I’m doing is offering you a leg up, so to speak.’ He grinned at his own wit. ‘Look at it this way, you’ll be ahead of the game in the job market if you get back to civvy street before the rest of us. So it’s up to you to make the most of it.’
It hadn’t taken much more persuading for Jack to convince him to try his luck at the Rovers and Steve was extremely grateful for the offer. He’d been thinking about his future while he was in hospital almost from the moment he’d come out of his coma and he was determined not to let his injury hold him back from the career he’d always wanted. Accepting Jack’s offer would take him one step closer to his dream of one day tenanting a smart country pub.
As soon as he felt fit enough when his rehab programme was over, he telephoned Annie Walker to declare his interest and explain who he was. He was surprised at how posh her voice was – it sounded very far removed from Jack’s down-to-earth accent. But he had to admit that, even during their brief conversation, she did sound every bit as Jack had hinted: a strong woman with a mind of her own.
Steve arrived back at the Rovers exactly on time for the interview she’d suggested and he paused outside for a moment to admire the large panes of frosted glass that had somehow survived the war. Just as the pub has survived the absence of its landlord, he thought in a fanciful moment. Surely it said something about the strength of the woman he’d come to see? There was no doubt she was some kind of a force to be reckoned with, even Jack had admitted that. Steve took a deep breath as he headed towards the door. Exactly what kind of force he was about to find out.
‘I fully appreciate what Jack is saying,’ Annie Walker said when they were finally seated in the back parlour and all the introductions and pleasantries were out of the way. She slipped some half-moon glasses onto the end of her nose and glanced back to Jack’s letter in her hand. ‘It’s just like my husband to try to help someone out, but are you sure you’re ready for all the heavy work? Because that is a large and integral part of the job.’
‘I’m pretty well as fit as I ever was,’ Steve said, crossing his fingers behind his back. ‘And I’m still working on it, so I reckon I’m as ready as I can be to tackle whatever’s needed.’ Steve looked her straight in the eye as he said this, until eventually she looked away and he hoped that it was his eyes twinkling a little that had brought the slight smile to Annie’s lips. ‘After all, it was my leg that was damaged, not my arms,’ he said, ‘so I reckon I can still lift the odd barrel and the like.’ Steve grinned, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to demonstrate these skills right now as he was actually feeling the effects of his long walk.
‘And do you really consider you’re ready for the managerial responsibilities this job entails? After all, you’ve been serving in the army for the last few years,’ Annie said.
‘As a corporal,’ Steve pointed out. ‘Which in itself involves taking on responsibilities.’
‘But not as a high-flying officer, so at least you won’t be after my job.’ Annie gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Though you will be used to taking orders.’ Steve wanted to smile at the slightly patronizing way she said that and he hoped his face didn’t give him away.
‘And would you say, generally, that you have a good head for business?’ Annie asked. ‘I will, of course, still be in overall charge, but I need someone solid and dependable who can take care of all aspects of the day-to-day running of the place. I have two young children who need my attention as well as the pub, and until the Germans surrender and peace is declared, we have no idea when Jack is likely to be coming home.’
As if on cue the door suddenly burst open and a little boy ran into the room crying, ‘Mummy, Mummy, who was that funny man with the limp who came hopping in?’ He stopped when he saw Steve and stared up at his face before glancing down at his legs. The boy then drew back his foot as if to let loose a mighty kick at Steve but luckily Steve saw the sudden movement and caught the boy’s leg before it could make contact. He held on to it while the boy could only hop in ever-decreasing circles. ‘I bet I can make you hop much better than me,’ Steve whispered into the boy’s ear. His voice was soft but steely and he continued to smile. He didn’t want to say more as he was waiting for Annie to intervene.
‘Tell him to stop!’ the boy squealed, but Annie only made soothing noises. ‘Oh Billy, you are such a one. I thought I told you to stay in the kitchen and look after Joanie? What will your father say? You know, he won’t tolerate such behaviour when he comes home.’
‘Then I don’t want him ever to come home. I hate him!’ Billy shouted. ‘He’s not going to tell me what to do.’
As if he suddenly realized he was still holding on to the leg of Jack’s son, Steve stood up abruptly and as he did so he lifted the young boy off the ground.
‘Put me down!’ Billy screamed. Steve paid no heed at first, but when it became apparent Annie had nothing more to say, he eventually lowered him to the floor. As soon as he was standing upright, Billy aimed a kick again at Steve’s legs which Steve was fortunately able to parry. Billy’s jaw tightened as he turned away and he began to half run, half walk round the room with an exaggerated limp, shouting, ‘I’m Mr Hoppy and I can hop better than you!’ in a taunting voice. When he reached the door he turned and pulled out his tongue. Annie gasped, then Billy hopped off into the vestibule, leaving the door wide open behind him.
Annie shook her head and made a tutting sound as Billy disappeared, but then she got up to close the door and Steve could see she was smiling.
‘What can you do with such a rascal?’ she said with no attempt at an apology.
‘Hope that he grows up to be a decent man like his father,’ Steve offered diplomatically, making sure to maintain the smile on his lips, even though his leg had begun to throb in anticipation of what might have been.
‘Now, where were we?’ Annie said.
‘Discussing my ranking, I think.’ Steve handed her a sheet of paper, outlining his previous jobs. ‘I’d say my work history speaks for itself,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find I can work at whatever level you require.’
‘So, what would you say are the essentials for a good pub?’ Annie asked as she glanced over the paper.
Steve was about to say, ‘a pretty barmaid,’ but he managed to check himself and said instead, ‘A good pub should have contented staff. Someone behind the bar who has a sense of humour and a happy smile.’ He gestured towards Annie with his hand as he said this. To his surprise she blushed as he held her gaze for a moment and he realized that was not the answer she’d been expecting. ‘I’ve seen what looks like a new pub not very far from here,’ Steve said quickly.
‘Ah, yes, indeed,’ Annie said, peering through the glasses that had slipped down her nose. ‘That would be the Tripe Dresser’s Arms, though I believe they have some fancy new name for it now, which I find not a little pretentious.’
‘Well, as a newcomer to the area I’d certainly want to check out the opposition.’ He didn’t want to tell her he’d already done that and that he intended to visit the Pride of Weatherfield again in the very near future in pursuit of the pretty barmaid in the green dress who did indeed have a sense of humour and a welcoming smile. Annie continued to probe with a further list of questions until there really seemed nothing left to ask. Finally, she stood up and Steve followed suit. He had assumed the interview was a formality so he was surprised when she said, ‘I’d be happy for you to start tomorrow, but I’m afraid it would have to be cellar work only for the time being. I’m sure you understand that I’ll have to follow up your references before I can make the bar manager’s position official.’
‘Yes, of course, I understand,’ Steve said politely.’ He didn’t really, for he’d assumed the job was his, wasn’t her husband’s endorsement of him good enough? ‘And how long do you think that might take?’
A flash of annoyance crossed her face. ‘I shall get on to it as quickly as I’m able,’ she said. She glanced towards the closed door. The sound of children squabbling was increasing. ‘It’s been very nice to meet you, thank you so much for coming, Mr Carter.’ She put out her hand and Steve shook it. ‘It’s Steve, please,’ he said. ‘I look forward to working with you,’ and he gave her what he hoped was a winning smile.
It was a week before Steve received notification that the manager’s job was his should he still want it, and if his leg hadn’t been playing up that morning he would have danced round his mother’s kitchen with delight.
‘At least that Mrs Walker knows a good thing when she sees one,’ Mrs Carter said as he waved the letter in front of her.
‘Only thing is, Mam,’ Steve’s face was suddenly serious as he sat down at the table, ‘it means I’ll be moving out of here again. You and dad have done so much to help me since I’ve been back, and you know I’m grateful, but I’m afraid it’s too far for me to travel each day. I’ll have to try and find some digs in Weatherfield, closer to the pub.’
‘Don’t worry, love. You don’t have to make excuses. It’s your life and you have to do what you have to do. It’s not as though you haven’t lived away before. You were never home much before the war. I’m just right proud you’re not letting that nasty injury business get in your way,’ she said, kissing the top of his sleeked-back hair. ‘Just be sure to remember to visit us once in a while.’
‘Didn’t I always? At least once in a while.’ Steve laughed.
‘Maybe a little more often than you did before would be nice, and I promise not to ask what you get up to in between whiles, though I can guess.’
‘Fair’s fair. I’m not a kid. You know that.’
‘You mean what I don’t know can’t hurt me, eh? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Like I don’t know what you get up to now that you’re back on your feet!’
‘Well, you don’t, do you?’
‘True enough. No more than I ever knew.’ She sighed. ‘And right embarrassing that could be. I lost count of the times a young lassie’s mother would come up to me in the street saying how thrilled she was her young ’un were courting my lad. And me, I knew nowt about it so I couldn’t say yay or nay.’
‘Go on with you. You didn’t really want to know all the ins and outs every time I went out with someone, now did you?’
‘No, there were too many of them for me to keep track.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘You were not like your sister. The only thing I can say is that at least none of them got up the duff. Not so far as I know, at any rate.’
Steve gave a loud guffaw. ‘Oh, Mam, that’s why I love you so much. You come right out with it. There’s no beating about the bush with you, is there? And that’s why I think it’s far better that I live my own life. Can you imagine if I’d have told you about all the girls I’ve been out with over the years, not to mention those who I didn’t go out with even though they said I did. You’d never have got a wink of sleep for worrying. So I’ll do you a favour and this time I’ll move far enough away so you can’t bump into any young lassie’s mother. Though I promise to tell you if I hit the jackpot.’
‘What? You get wed?’ Now his mother laughed with a throaty laugh that ended in a choking splutter. ‘Never!’
‘You know what they say, never say never. But for now how about lending me a few bob?’
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