Coming Home to the Four Streets by Nadine Dorries (books that read to you .txt) 📗

black eyes stared up at him. ‘Max,’ he whispered to the black rat, who obligingly pushed the rest of the lid off and, looked intently at little Paddy, as though waiting for his next words. Scamp shuffled flat on his belly and lay next to him. The dog and the rat were the axis of little Paddy’s life now that his best friend in all the world, Harry Doherty, had gone.

‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back soon with some pobs and then you can come to school with me in me bag.’

Max, as if understanding every word, obediently hopped back down into his box and little Paddy replaced the lid. ‘Back soon,’ he whispered as he and Scamp wriggled back out from under the bed and headed down to bring in the milk.

*

Half an hour later the street came alive as the dockers’ klaxon rang out, calling the men down to the docks and the calls went up from one back gate to the next. The marching men stopped at Peggy’s. ‘Oi, big man, are you coming out or what?’ shouted Jerry who lived across the road in number 42.

Peggy grabbed the spoon from Paddy’s hand as he was about to scrape the last of the milk-soaked, sugar-coated stale bread from the side of the dish and, opening the back door, threw his coat at him and pushed him out.

‘He’s coming now, Jer, just hang on there,’ she shouted and then hissed under her breath, ‘There’s nothing for your break,’ as she shoved an empty knapsack into his hands. ‘Pretend there is and carry it anyway. You only worked three days last week and I’ll have to go over the road to Kathleen and scrounge something to get these kids fed tonight. And understand this, you fat lazy slob, even if your back is breaking in two, you will be working every day from now on. There’s no Tommy to carry you, no Maura to feed our kids when they are starving or invite us round for a roast. The rent hasn’t been paid for weeks and it’s time for you to pull your bleedin’ weight.’

Paddy’s reply was drowned out by the noise of the men at the back gate. ‘Paddy, you got to dress yourself in time, what next, eh?’ said Jerry, patting him on the back. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘He has,’ shouted Peggy from the doorway. ‘His belly is as full as a tinker’s bra.’

The men roared with laughter.

‘Don’t worry, Peggy, I’ll have him home before dark,’ Jerry called back.

‘Don’t you dare, Jerry Deane. If there’s an extra shift, you make sure he is taken on for it. He can work all night as well, for all I care, because he’s a lot of catching up to do.’

She slammed the back door and felt the weight fall from her shoulders. A day’s pay was in the bag, Jerry would make sure of that. Peggy placed her hand in the small of her back; the ache which had been there for so long was almost unbearable these last few days, but she never complained like Paddy did. She would ask Kathleen for some Anadin. It had been grumbling away for weeks and if Kathleen gave her more than two pills she would hide the rest in the bread bin. Her need was greater than Paddy’s, for her pain was real.

*

Paddy grumbled all the way down the steps to the pen which was full, but there was no pushing or shoving. The gaffer would point to those who were known to be good workers, his own friends and the sons of his friends. Everyone else stood and waited, desperate to be taken on. The klaxon rang out, persistent and demanding, teasing the men with the promise of labour, larders to be filled, nights in the Anchor to be enjoyed. Those who weren’t picked would make their way back up the dockers’ steps and walk to the social, hearts heavy with worry.

‘What’s due in from out on the bar?’ Stanley Tanner called out from the back to Jerry who, as usual, was first down, and always taken on.

‘The mist on the water is so thick out from the basin, I can’t make it out,’ Jerry called back.

‘We could do with the Morry – it’s getting mighty close to the carnival and the fecking cupboards are bare,’ Seamus grumbled.

‘We may as well go back up – there’s too many waiting down here to be taken on,’ said Paddy hopefully. Jerry flicked the stump of his ciggie to the ground, ignoring him, and spoke to Stanley. ‘Aye, Kathleen was complaining just the same. I thought Captain Conor would have been back before now, but Ena hasn’t heard a thing.’

‘What if he doesn’t turn up between now and the carnival, Jer? What will happen?’ asked Seamus who was always at the front with Jerry.

‘I don’t know, Seamus, but we’ve two weeks or so yet, so let’s pray at mass on Sunday that Conor hasn’t forgotten us and sails in next week.’ He turned back to the men from the four streets, gathered behind him. ‘Come on, fellas, let’s get ahead before they move down to the Dock Road end. Looks like there will be work for all of us today.’

The men shuffled down to the front of the pen to be picked off, one by one by the gaffer, who winked at Jerry, acknowledging their conversations of the night before in the Anchor.

‘I’m retiring, Jerry,’ the gaffer had said, ‘and I’ve told Mr Heartfelt it should be you who takes my place. That’s the only way we’ll keep the men of the four streets in work – because I’m telling you, the dock board has plans to knock the streets down and hand them over to Liverpool council for houses, like the ones they are throwing up in Speke. They’re calling it slum clearance, the cheeky bastards.’

Jerry had almost spat out the Guinness he had been drinking. ‘You’re kidding me? Aren’t