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

and, if truth be known, he felt better for having sent the telegram to Captain Conor. His own mother would have told him to do the same. He could see with his own eyes that things were not as they had once been: Biddy was ageing and dockers with big families were getting poorer, as the dock board squeezed wages to make even bigger profits and fewer ships came into port.

‘You know, Biddy, some of those women in homes where the men aren’t being taken on must be out of their minds with worry, so concern yourself not, I was happy to send the telegram – if it helps out around here, it was the right thing to do. Now, shall we go to the café on the end of the parade for a cuppa.’

Biddy smiled. ‘Good idea. And while we are there, I’ll pop into Cindy’s and get an appointment for Saturday. The best hairdresser in Liverpool, she is.’

Biddy linked her arm through Malcolm’s as they walked down the Dock Road and Malcolm tucked her arm closer into his side. ‘And you, Biddy, you’re the best friend a man could have. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have my back like you do. You remind me of Mam.’

‘Oh, give over, you,’ she said as she swung her handbag forwards and whacked him on his protruding belly. Malcolm gave one of his rare laughs.

‘So you aren’t cross with me about Mary, then?’

‘No, I’m not at all. That was a perfect bacon butty. You’re right, Mary is going to make my life so much easier. I don’t know why I’m so stubborn, sometimes.’

Biddy felt her heart fill with fondness. ‘I never thought I’d hear you admit that. But you must understand Malcolm, I’m always right and if you doubt me, there’s always Kathleen to read your tea leaves for confirmation. Oh look, there’s Cindy waving through the window. Get me an Eccles cake to go with that tea and I’ll be five minutes.’

Biddy could see that Ena was under the dryer and Deirdre Malone was sitting on the pink seat with a towel around her shoulders. When the bell jangled out over the shop door as Biddy opened it, the smell of perming solution and hair spray assailed her nostrils as she called out, ‘How’s our Mary doing?’

Cindy placed her fingers over her lips. ‘Sshh,’ and pointed to Ena, who was fast asleep under the dryer, head back, mouth open, top teeth hanging down.

‘She will fit in just fine,’ said Biddy, in a whisper, ‘and I’ve no doubt she’ll enjoy the extra money.’

‘Do you want an appointment, Biddy?’ asked Cindy, opening the book. And then, dropping her voice even further, ‘I don’t suppose Malcolm has heard anything from Captain Conor? Poor Ena is out of her mind.’ Cindy nodded towards Ena. ‘She hasn’t heard from him for months.’

Biddy shook her head. ‘Malcolm has just sent a telegram thingy. With a bit of luck we should hear something soon.’

Malcolm, heading towards the café, felt good. The clouds had dispersed, the threat of rain had gone, Mary had come to work for him, the sun might just be here to stay, Captain Conor would know he was needed and sail in – everything was going to be just fine.

Chapter Seven

Tommy poured the drinks whilst Maura slipped the paper knife into the top of the blue airmail letters and laid them flat on the top of the table, smoothing them out with the palms of her hands, wondering which one to read first.

‘Let’s be starting with Sister Evangelista, shall we?’ she said. Tommy saw the look of pleasure and anticipation on Maura’s face as she scanned the pale blue paper. It made him feel happy and it struck him that the letters from home gave them almost too much pleasure and highlighted how little of note happened in their daily lives.

‘Well, imagine, Sister says they are choosing the Dock Queen attendants for the carnival this week, and she says that if Angela was at the school still, she would definitely have been chosen for the chief one, given how much effort she had put into controlling her temper of late. Well, I never, wouldn’t Angela just have been delighted?’ She couldn’t help the disappointment creeping into her voice and looked towards Tommy.

‘Don’t,’ said Tommy as he pulled the stopper from the top of the whiskey bottle and began to pour it into the glass. ‘And don’t be telling our Angela neither,’ he said. ‘She hates this bloody school she’s in – and I swear to God, that effort to control her temper was short-lived. She’s done nothing but complain since we moved here.’

He handed Maura her glass, half-filled with a generous helping of the warm amber liquid, to soften the sharp edge of his words. Maura took a sip and, placing Sister Evangelista’s letter to the side with a heavy heart, picked up the next one. She would savour each letter as she went.

‘This one is from Malcolm from the Seaman’s Stop. God love him, he says that the streets aren’t the same without us and he would throw a party if we would return home for the carnival.’ Maura sat back and placed the letter on the table. ‘Well, would you fancy that? Malcolm doesn’t even go to the pub! He drives Biddy to distraction, for she loves a Guinness. She’s been like a mammy to him since his own mammy died and poor Ena has ended up in his doorway more times than enough, three sheets to the wind. You’d think he would want to go and join them, wouldn’t you.’

Tommy and Maura both blessed themselves with the sign of the cross and Tommy’s eyebrows rose as his glass reached his lips. ‘What else does he say? Does he write what kind of party would he throw, would the drink be free?’

‘He says the work on the docks is drying up, that only half a pen is being