Try a Little Tenderness

by Joan Jonker

Genres: Family Life; Siblings; Friendship; World War II; Sagas

Synopsis

With the country on the brink of war, a family also faces struggles closer to home. Try a Little Tenderness is a moving wartime saga, which sees Joan Jonker weave her magic once again in an unforgettable tale that is sure to stay with you long after you have finished the last page. Perfect for fans of Lindsey Hutchinson and Dilly Court. Jenny and Laura Nightingale are as different as chalk and cheese. Jenny's pretty face and lively sense of humour make her everyone's favourite girl, whereas Laura is mean and moody and she's never out of trouble. Their mother, Mary, loves them both and frets about Laura's behaviour, but soon that's the least of her worries... Her father's new young wife, Celia, is about to bring shame on the family by leading Laura astray. Jenny attracts the attention of two young lads in her street who both want to court her. Mick and John have been mates since they were kids but now war is declared, and it's every man for himself! Meanwhile Laura's resentment begins to build and it's only a matter of time before things come to a head. Who will learn that a little tenderness goes a long way? What Amazon readers are saying about Try a Little Tenderness : 'Yet another hilarious and life like read. Growing up is not easy for anyone but this book shows that there is light at the end of the teenage years. The characters are so witty you can't help but wish you were their friend too! It shows that life is never easy, but there is always somebody there to lend moral support, a joke or a cup of sugar! Highly recommended' ' AMAZING. Always a pleasure to read. I always enjoy these books, you lose yourself in them every time you pick them up'

Release date: February 2, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 484

Sample

‘I want me skipping-rope back, Laura, yer’ve had it for ages and it’s not fair because it was my birthday present.’

‘Oh, stop yer moaning.’ Laura Nightingale threw her sister Jenny a dirty look. ‘Me mam said yer had to give me a go.’

‘Yeah, but she didn’t mean yer could keep it all to yerself.’ Jenny stamped her foot in indignation at the injustice of it. At twelve years of age, she was eighteen months younger than her sister and always came off worse when it came to sharing. ‘When you got a book for yer birthday, yer wouldn’t even read me a story from it, never mind let me read it.’

‘That’s ’cos I didn’t want yer to get dirty marks on it.’ Laura was skipping with her arms crossed and jumping on one foot. It wasn’t often she got the chance to skip with a proper skipping-rope. Usually it was a piece of clothes-line, but this one had real wooden handles painted in a bright red. ‘I’ll swap yer me book for yer rope.’

‘No! The book’s all torn now, I don’t want it.’ Jenny could see her sister had no intention of relinquishing the rope until she got fed up with it. ‘I’m going to tell me mam if yer don’t give it to me now.’

Laura smirked and kept on skipping. ‘Go and tell her, I don’t care.’

Near to tears, Jenny ran into the house. She found her mother in the kitchen putting some clothes through the mangle. ‘Mam, our Laura won’t give me back me skipping-rope. I haven’t even had a turn, and it’s my birthday present.’

Mary Nightingale sighed as she rubbed her wet hands down the front of her pinny. Mother and daughter were as alike as two peas in a pod. Both were slim, with pale golden hair, a fair complexion and vivid blue eyes. They had the same nature, too. Kind, easygoing and with a sense of humour that brought a ready smile to their faces.

‘She’s a selfish article, our Laura. She thinks the world revolves around her and what she wants.’ Mary made her way to the front door. ‘It’s about time she learned there are other people beside herself.’

When Laura saw her mother, she laughed. ‘Went crying to her mammy, did she? She’s like a flippin’ baby.’

‘Give her the rope, Laura, it’s her birthday present.’

‘I’ll give it to her in a minute, when I’ve had a go skipping backwards.’ There was a brazen look on Laura’s face. ‘Just a couple more minutes.’

‘Yer heard what I said.’ Mary was trying to contain her rising temper. ‘Give it to her now or I’ll give yer a clip around the ears.’

Still the girl went on skipping as though daring her mother to carry out her threat. ‘I said in a minute.’

Mary stepped forward and caught the rope in mid-flight. ‘Do as ye’re told and hand it over.’

‘I won’t, not until I’m ready.’ When she felt her mother tugging at the rope, Laura gripped it tight and refused to let go. And all the while she had a smirk on her face. With her dark hair, greeny-hazel eyes and swarthy complexion, there was no resemblance between her and the woman with whom she was having a tug of war. And the war wasn’t about the rope, it was about her getting her own way, showing who was the boss.

Mary could no longer stand the insolence and delivered a stinging smack to the side of her daughter’s face. ‘You asked for that, you impudent, selfish madam. Don’t yer ever dare answer me back like that again.’ She pulled the rope which was now hanging loose and passed it to Jenny. ‘Here yer are, sunshine, and don’t let her take it off yer again.’

Laura looked stunned as she held a hand to her cheek. ‘You just wait until me dad gets in, he’ll have something to say about this. Yer’ll be sorry.’

‘I warned yer dad twelve years ago that he was spoiling yer and making a rod for his own back. The trouble is, he’s made one for my back as well. And everybody else that has to put up with yer selfishness and insolence.’ With that Mary turned her back and went into the house. She knew there’d be a row when Stan came in, he wouldn’t take her side, never did. But there was only so much a mother could take from a child who was out of hand, and she’d taken enough. They had two daughters and they should be treated equally. But they weren’t, not by their father. Laura could do no wrong in his eyes, he thought the sun shone out of her backside. She lied herself out of trouble, always laying the blame at her sister’s door. If there was a fight, it was always Jenny who started it. If anything went missing, it was Jenny who’d taken it. And Stan fell for it every time, believing her without question.

Mary put her hip to the side of the mangle and pushed it back into the corner of the tiny kitchen of the two-up-two-down house that had been her home since the day she married, fifteen years ago. She loved her husband, and they’d been happy, until favouritism had reared its ugly head and blighted that happiness. She’d tried to reason with Stan when Laura started getting out of hand, but he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t see further than the end of his nose where she was concerned. Poor Jenny didn’t get a look in. Although she was the youngest, she was the one who was sent to the corner shop for his five Woodbines when Laura didn’t feel like going. She was the one sent down the yard for a shovelful of coal because Laura didn’t like the cold. Yet she never complained. She did everything she was asked, because from the time she could toddle she realised her sister was more special to her father than she was. But in the last year she’d begun to rebel against the unfairness and was fighting back.

Mary lifted the lid off the pan of stew and sniffed up in appreciation. ‘That should put a lining on their tummies.’ She spoke aloud to the empty room. ‘I’ll set the table and then call the girls in.’

She was laying the knives and forks out when her husband came in, his face red with anger. ‘Have you just slapped our Laura for nothing?’

‘No, I have not slapped our Laura for nothing.’ Mary sighed as she shook her head. ‘I slapped her for giving me cheek and for not doing as she was told.’

‘Yer made a holy show of her in front of the whole street, that’s what yer did. And all over a bleedin’ skipping-rope.’

Her anger high, Mary’s answer was sharp. ‘I think yer should get yer facts straight, Stan Nightingale. And yer won’t get them straight off that wayward daughter of ours. Huh! In front of the whole street, was it? I didn’t see anyone around, but if there was then they’d have heard her giving her mother cheek, the hard-faced little faggot. And the bleedin’ skipping-rope ye’re talking about was Jenny’s birthday present! She wasn’t even allowed to get her hands on it because of your darling Laura. Or had yer forgotten it was Jenny’s birthday? Mind you, it wouldn’t surprise me. There are times when I think yer’ve forgotten yer’ve even got another daughter, all the notice yer take of her.’

‘Well, I don’t want yer hittin’ her no more.’ Stan hung his peaked cap on the nail behind the kitchen door. ‘If there’s any telling-off to do, I’ll do it.’

He was about to walk away when Mary grabbed his arm and spun him around. ‘You tell our Laura off! That’s a good one, that is. I’ve never known yer raise yer voice to her, nor yer hand, more’s the pity. A few smacks when she was younger would have put her on the straight and narrow, taught her right from wrong. But it’s too late now, she’s set in her ways, lying, cheating and bloody selfish. Yer’ll live to rue the day, Stan Nightingale, mark my words. She’ll bring trouble to this door, and it’ll all be your fault.’

Stan, whose dark colouring Laura had inherited, flushed. ‘Yer’ve always had it in for the girl, yer’ve never had any time for her. But in future, leave me to deal with her.’

Once again he made to walk away and Mary pulled him back. ‘Let’s get this straight, once and for all. She’s my daughter as well as yours, and while she’s in this house she does as she’s told. If she misbehaves and deserves a crack, I’ll give her one. If she’s good, we’ll get on fine and this house will be a happier place. The choice is hers. But I’ll tell yer this, Stan, and yer can take it from me that I mean every word of it. I’m fed up to the back teeth of her getting pampered and our Jenny left out in the cold. I won’t tolerate it any longer. Either Laura pulls her socks up and behaves in a reasonable manner, or I’ll wash me hands of her and she can run riot for all I care. She’d be your responsibility then. And that is only right, because you made her what she is.’ She pushed his arm. ‘Go and call the girls in for their dinner. Oh, and unless the words stick in yer throat, wish Jenny a Happy Birthday.’

They sat down to their meal in silence. But Laura’s eyes were going from her mother to her father. She wasn’t satisfied that she’d received the sympathy she thought she deserved. ‘Is me face red, Dad, where me mam slapped me?’

Stan’s eyes were on his plate when Mary answered. ‘I can’t see any red. But I’ll slap yer again if it’s a red face yer want.’

‘Did yer hear that, Dad? She said she’d slap me again.’

‘Get on with yer dinner,’ he grunted, ‘before it gets cold.’

Mary pursed her lips. She shouldn’t say any more to aggravate the situation, it would make her as childish as her daughter. But in the end she couldn’t hold it back. Her and Stan had never argued before, not until Laura started to come between them with her shenanigans. ‘Don’t call me “she” either. They say that “she” is the cat’s mother. So if I’m a “she”, what does that make you?’

Jenny was feeling miserable, her heart in her boots. She couldn’t bear it when there was an atmosphere in the house, and this time she was to blame. She should have let her sister keep the blinking rope – look at the trouble it had caused. She could tell her mam was upset, and she didn’t deserve to be. So Jenny tried to make amends. ‘Did yer see me skipping-rope, Dad? It’s a smasher, all me mates will be green with envy.’

Laura wasn’t having that. She was her dad’s favourite, not Jenny. ‘Seeing as all your mates are green anyway, no one will notice the difference. They’re all as thick as two short planks, every one of them.’

Stan raised his head, his knife and fork standing one in each hand like sentinels. ‘That’s enough of that, there’s no need to be sarky. Get on with yer dinner and have less to say.’

Laura’s eyes flew open in surprise. Her dad never spoke to her like that. But she knew who had put him up to it – her mother. But she better hadn’t say anything now, not while her dad was there. She’d get her own back though, she vowed as she speared a carrot. If her mother thought she was going to be a goody-goody, like their Jenny, then she had another think coming.

As the meal continued in silence, Laura was wrapped up in thoughts of the future. Only another six months and she’d be leaving school and getting herself a job. She was so selfish, all she dreamed of was having her own money and being able to buy the clothes she liked instead of having to wear the drab things her mother bought for her. Never once had it entered her empty head that her mother had to scrimp and scrape every week to buy those clothes. No, all Laura was concerned about was herself. Not for her the pride of handing over her wages every week in the knowledge that they would make life easier for all the family. She’d already made up her mind that she was entitled to keep more for herself in pocket-money than she handed over. After all, she would be the one going to work so why should she hand it over? In her narrow mind there was only one person in her life that she really loved – Laura Nightingale.

Mary was hanging the washing on the line on the Monday morning when a smile crossed her face. Amy Hanley, her neighbour and best friend, was singing at the top of her voice in the next yard. Over the wall came the strains of a song that had been popular a few years ago. Mind you, it had been sung then by Kate Smith, and Amy was certainly not in the same league as the well-known singer. It wasn’t that she was tone deaf, she just sounded like someone who had been thrown out of the pub at closing time after her throat had been oiled by half-a-dozen bottles of stout.

‘When the moon comes over the mountains,

I’m alone with my memories of you.

We kissed and said goodbye,

You cried and so did I,

Now do you wonder why I’m lonely?’

Mary took a peg from her mouth, and giggling, she shouted, ‘Yer missed a verse out there, Amy. What happened to the “rose-covered valley we knew”?’

‘Oh, ye’re there, are yer? Well, I’m not in the mood for rose-covered valleys today, girl, I want to be alone with me bleedin’ memories.’

‘What memories are they, Amy? Must be miserable from the sound of yer.’

‘I’m always miserable on wash-day, girl. If the sun was shining and I had nowt to do, and me purse had a few bob in it, me memories would be happy ones. Like remembering when my feller used to put his hands around me waist and tell me I was the most beautiful girl in the world, bar none. He hasn’t said that for years, girl. Mind you, I haven’t had a bleedin’ waist for years, either.’

Although there was a brick wall separating them, Mary could see her friend as clearly as if she was standing next to her. She was only five foot, was Amy, and as round as she was tall. Right now her mousy-coloured hair would be covered by a mobcap which would be down to her eyebrows because the elastic had withered, the pocket of her pinny would be bulging with clothes pegs, her stockings would be wrinkled around her ankles and her face would be creased in a smile.

‘Another memory keeps coming back to me, girl, but I have a bit of trouble with it ’cos it’s faded with age. It was when we were first married, before the kids came along, and my feller was that eager he used to carry me upstairs to the bedroom.’ Amy’s laugh was so loud they must have been able to hear it in the next street. ‘Now it takes him all his time to carry himself up. And the most I get out of him in bed is, “Don’t let me oversleep, d’yer hear?”.’

‘Well, the men are tired after a hard day’s work, Amy, yer’ve got to make allowances for them. The first flush of youth isn’t there any more.’

‘What the bleedin’ hell do they think we do all day? Sit on our ruddy backsides? I’d willingly swap places with my feller and go out to work while he minded the three kids. He wouldn’t know what had hit him, having to polish and scrub, wash, iron, get the shopping in, see to the dinners, do the darning … I’d give him a week and he’d be pleading for mercy.’

‘Some good could come of it, Amy,’ Mary chuckled. ‘If he was at home all day he could put his feet up for a couple of hours, then he’d have the energy to carry yer up the stairs to bed again.’

‘He’d need more than energy to carry me up the stairs now, girl – he’d need a bleedin’ hoist. And by the end of all that palaver he’d have lost the urge.’ Amy finished pegging the washing on the line and stood back to gaze with satisfaction at the clothes blowing in the wind. They’d be dry in no time and she could start ironing before the two kids came in from school and got under her feet. ‘Ay, girl, yer don’t happen to have any custard creams in, do yer?’

‘I might have a couple, I think. Why? Are yer having visitors?’

‘I’m not, girl – you are! I’m inviting meself in for a cup of tea and a chinwag. There’s nothing better to chase the blues away than a good old gossip.’ Her chubby face did contortions. ‘Yer don’t need to get yer best china out for me, girl, I’m not a snob.’

‘Don’t be funny, Amy Hanley, yer know I haven’t got no china cups.’

‘That’s why I said yer didn’t need to get them out, girl, I knew yer didn’t have none. I didn’t want yer rummaging in yer cupboards for something yer haven’t got. And don’t be coming over all embarrassed when yer give me a cup with a chip in, ’cos like I said, I’m not a snob.’

‘Ye’re a bloody scream, you are, Amy! Yer invite yerself over without a by-your-leave, then have the nerve to criticise me crockery before yer come. And ye’re expecting custard creams into the bargain.’

‘Only one, girl, I don’t expect no more. And yer’ll get yer money’s worth, ’cos I can tell by yer voice that yer need cheering up.’ Amy raised her voice to a shout. ‘You put the kettle on, girl, while I stick the guard in front of the fire.’

‘You’re well-off having a fire this time of the morning, aren’t yer? Has your feller had a win on the gee-gees?’

Back came a whispered, ‘Fooling the neighbours, girl, that’s all. I bet a pound to a pinch of snuff that nosy Annie Baxter has had her ear to the wall, listening to every word we’ve said. She’ll be round to Lily Farmer’s as fast as her skinny legs will carry her. And by the time she’s put her own interpretation on our conversation, it’ll end up something like this. “Ay, what d’yer think, Lily? Monday morning, and that Amy Hanley’s got a fire up the chimney. And yer’ll never guess where she got the money from for a bag of coal. What’s that yer said, Lily? Oh, yer’ll have three guesses … okay. No, she didn’t get it on tick off the coalman. No, she didn’t find a two-bob piece. No, yer silly cow, the bag hadn’t fallen off the bleedin’ coal-cart. That’s yer three guesses, Lily, and I knew yer wouldn’t get it in a month of Sundays. Just wait till I tell yer, yer won’t believe it. She got it off her feller for letting him carry her upstairs so he could have his wicked way with her. How about that, eh? Dirty pair of buggers”.’

On the other side of the yard wall, Mary was in stitches. Amy might not be able to sing like Kate Smith, but her impersonation of the street gossip was perfect. ‘That was very good, Amy, yer sounded just like her.’

‘If I had false teeth, girl, I could do it better. Yer know how her teeth are always clicking when she talks – well, I can’t do that. Still, it’s not worth having all me teeth out just to sound as miserable as she does. I’m all for getting things right, but that would be carrying it a bit too far.’

‘It’s to be hoped she’s not listening to yer now, Amy.’

‘I couldn’t give a sod, girl, and that’s the truth. If she wants to listen in to private conversations, then she doesn’t deserve to hear anything good about herself.’

‘Ye’re right there, sunshine. Anyway, I’m going in or the day will be gone before we know it. I’ll have a cuppa on the table in ten minutes. Oh, and I won’t forget yer custard cream. It won’t be a whole one because I could only afford half-a-pound of broken biscuits, but I’ll see if I can stick two together for yer, seeing as ye’re me best mate.’

‘This is more like it, girl!’ Amy faced her friend across the table. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a lady of leisure. If someone could trace me family tree, I’m sure they’d find me ancestors were very wealthy. They could even have been of the nobility, ’cos I’ve always had the feeling that I was cut out for better things.’ Her body shook with laughter. ‘Don’t worry, girl, I won’t be expecting yer to curtsy to me. A slight nod of yer head will do.’

‘D’yer think one of yer ancestors lost the family wealth through gambling and loose women?’ Mary’s face was deadpan. ‘That could account for yer being reduced to sitting in the living room of a two-up two-down house, eating broken biscuits. It could also account for yer obsession with what goes on in the bedroom.’

Amy laced her chubby fingers and nodded her head. ‘Someone’s got a lot to answer for, haven’t they, girl? Dragging me down from riches to rags.’

‘Money doesn’t always bring happiness, sunshine.’

‘No, I know that, but at least yer can be miserable in comfort. I wouldn’t mind the kids running riot if I was stretched out on one of those chaise longue things, with a glass of whisky in one hand and a big box of Cadbury’s in the other.’

‘We don’t do too bad, Amy, we’re better off than some in the street. At least Stan and Ben are working, even if they do get a lousy wage. We’ve always managed to scrape along somehow. And things can only get better with the kids growing up.’ Mary topped the cups up and put the cosy back on the teapot. ‘Yer’ve got your John working already, bringing in a few bob, and Eddy will be leaving school in eighteen months, same time as our Jenny. Then yer’ll only have Edna at home, and yer won’t know yerself. Yer’ll be living the life of Riley.’

Amy grinned. ‘I wish I knew this Riley feller, he could give me a few tips. I don’t know what he’s got that nobody else has, but I’d like a bit of it.’ Her brows drew together. ‘What are yer looking at, girl?’

‘Unless I’m seeing things it’s starting to rain. Hang on, I’ll make sure.’ Mary opened the kitchen door and groaned. ‘It’s only spitting at the moment, but there’s a dirty big black cloud overhead so we could be in for a downpour.’

Amy’s legs were too short to reach the floor, so she had to shuffle her bottom to the edge of the chair before she could push herself up. ‘Damn, blast and bugger it! I was hoping to have the washing dried and ironed before teatime. There’s nothing I hate more than wet clothes drippin’ on me bleedin’ head while I’m seeing to the dinner. The kitchen gets full of condensation and the steam’s so thick yer’ve got to fight yer way through it.’ She adopted the stance of a boxer, her shoulders hunched and her clenched fists stabbing the air while her feet danced in time with them. For a small woman carrying a lot of weight she could certainly move. ‘Like this, girl, that’s how I fight me way through the steam.’

‘Yer’ve got a screw loose, Amy Hanley.’ Mary grinned at the woman who never failed to cheer her up. There might be black clouds in the sky, but when her mate smiled, and her pretty face creased, she brought sunshine into the house. ‘Yer’ll need to be able to fight if Annie Baxter heard yer talking about her. She’ll have yer guts for garters.’

‘Huh! She’s small fry, that one. I wouldn’t need to fight her – one good puff and she’d be out for the count.’

‘What if she’s got her mate with her? Lily Farmer’s not half big, she’d make two of you.’

‘Ay, well, I’ve got to admit that Lily’s a different kettle of fish. But I’ve got one thing in my favour, I can run faster than her. I might have a screw loose, girl, but I know me limitations and Lily Farmer is definitely outside of them.’ Amy pushed the chair under the table and her face took on a thoughtful expression. ‘It’s funny yer should mention a loose screw, girl, ’cos I think ye’re right. Every time I turn me neck sharply, I can feel this thing rattling around in me head. Could that be the loose screw yer were talking about?’

‘Amy, I don’t want to rush yer, sunshine, but the rain is teeming down. I’m bringing my washing in now before it’s wringing sopping wet. If the weather clears I can put it out again when I come back from the shops.’

‘I’ll come to the shops with yer, girl, keep yer company. What time are yer going?’

‘In about twenty minutes.’

‘Just enough time for me to spend a penny, give me face a cat’s lick and a promise, pull me stockings up and comb me hair. I don’t need to cake me face with powder or lipstick, not with my natural beauty.’

‘Ta-ra, sunshine, on yer way! I’ll see yer later.’ Mary left her friend and dashed out into the heavy rain. She sighed as she unpegged the clothes that were a damn sight more wet than when she’d put them out in the first place. Her eyes went to the heavens. ‘Please God, take pity on us poor women, we don’t do no one no harm.’ She could feel the dampness as the rain soaked her dress, but she managed a smile. ‘Only with words, God, and we don’t really mean half we say. Besides, words don’t harm no one.’

Mary turned into the butcher’s shop with Amy in her wake. ‘Good morning, Wilf, lovely weather for ducks, isn’t it?’

‘I’m happy for the ducks, Mary, but it’s bloody awful weather for business.’ The butcher feigned horror when his eyes lit on Amy. ‘Oh dear, yer’ve brought the menace with yer. D’yer not think I’ve got enough problems without blighting me life with Amy Hanley?’

Amy slowly lowered her basket to the floor before placing her hands on her ample hips. ‘Any more lip out of you, Wilf Burnett, and I’ll take me custom elsewhere. I don’t have to stand here and be insulted by the likes of you, yer know. All I’ve got to do is walk to the butcher’s in the next block and let him insult me. He’s better at it than you; some of his insults really get yer here.’ With a dramatic gesture she placed a hand where she thought her heart was. ‘Cut to the quick I’ve been, several times. In fact, and Mary here can bear me out, I was once that upset I had an attack of the vapours and someone had to hold a bottle of smelling salts to me nose, to bring me round.’

Wilf was shaking with laughter. He was a middle-aged man with thinning sandy hair and twinkling blue eyes. ‘Yer mean sal volatile, Amy?’

Amy dropped her pose. ‘What’s salvotily when it’s out?’

‘Smelling salts.’

‘That’s what I said, yer silly bugger! D’yer know what? Yer’ve talked that much I’ve forgotten what I’ve come in for. It’s no wonder yer’ve got no bleedin’ customers, yer’ve probably talked them to bloody death.’ She turned to Mary and gave her a broad wink. ‘That funeral that’s just passed us, I bet the poor sod used to shop here.’

‘Well, I’m going to make amends for insulting yer, Amy, by giving yer a little bit of advice,’ Wilf said. ‘Next time yer do yer drama queen act, try putting yer hand where yer heart is. Yer were miles out.’

‘I’ll return the favour and give you a bit of advice, Wilf Burnett. You just keep yer eyes off my … off my … off my thingummybobs. My Ben wouldn’t take kindly to yer weighing me up and down the way yer are. It’s not your fault, ’cos men are drawn to me like a moth to a flame, but yer’ve got to be strong and keep yerself under control. I know yer mean well, and to put yer mind at ease, I do know where me heart is. It’s well-covered, like, but it’s in there somewhere.’

Mary banged on the counter, and when Wilf turned her way, she waggled her fingers. ‘Yer do know I’m still here, don’t yer? I hate to split you two up, but I would like serving.’

‘Ah, she’s jealous.’ Amy shook her head and pouted her lips. ‘I get this with her all the time, Wilf. If a man looks at me with longing in his eyes, she goes into a deep sulk. I feel sorry for her, ’cos she’s me bestest mate. But I can’t help being desirable, can I? It’s not as though I’m a vampire, God forbid.’

When Mary and Wilf doubled up with laughter, Amy looked surprised. ‘Is it a private joke, or can anyone join in?’

Wilf reached for a clean piece of meat cloth and dabbed his eyes before answering. ‘Amy, a vampire sucks blood. The word you should have used was vamp, which means a flirt.’

‘Go ’way! Well, yer live and learn. I came in here for three-quarters of shin beef and get a lesson in geography and English. Not that I needed the geography lesson ’cos I know where me own bleedin’ heart is, but a vampire sucks blood, eh?’ Amy curled her fist and rested her chin on it. ‘We haven’t got none of them living in our street, have we, girl?’

‘How about the woman in number seven, sunshine? It looks like bright red lipstick from a distance, but yer never know.’

‘I’ll weigh the shin beef while you two crucify the poor woman in number seven.’ Wilf was reaching into the shop window for a tray of meat when Mary stayed his hand.

‘Oh no, you don’t! First in, first served, that’s how it should be. I’d like a round neck of lamb, please, the leanest yer’ve got. And will yer chop it into four for us?’

Two more customers came into the shop then, and the friends were soon served and on their way to the greengrocer’s. When Mary shopped on her own, she was around the shops in no time. After giving her order in and passing a few pleasant remarks, she was on her way. But shopping with Amy was a different experience altogether.

‘Don’t be trying to palm me off with a rotten cabbage, Billy Nelson, ’cos I haven’t just come over, yer know.’

‘What are yer on about, Amy?’ Billy scratched his head. He was short and stocky, with a mop of black curly hair and a cheeky grin. ‘I’ll have yer know that that cabbage was in a field yesterday; it’s as fresh as you are.’

‘Pull the other one, Billy, it’s got bells on. And when the bells start ringing everybody will think it’s Sunday and get themselves ready for Mass.’

‘Five o’clock this morning I was at the market getting me fruit and veg, Amy. Even the bleedin’ birds were still asleep. I’m telling yer, that cabbage is as fresh as yer’ll get.’

Mary thought it time to intervene, otherwise they’d be here all day. ‘What’s wrong with the ruddy cabbage? It looks all right to me.’

‘I dunno, girl, I can’t put me finger on it but I just don’t like the look of it. It might be the shape of the bleedi