Try a Little Tenderness (5 page)

Ignoring the greeting, the headmistress turned the handle on the office door and pushed it open. Her face only an inch away from the terrified girl, she barked, ‘Enter.’

Laura nearly jumped out of her skin. And as she entered the office, tears welled up in her eyes and she allowed them to flow freely down her cheeks.

‘Stop that snivelling, girl!’ Miss Harrison sat down at the far side of the desk and with the end of her pencil, began a rhythmic tapping on the wooden top. ‘Mr Johnston tells me you were late for school.’

Laura made no attempt to stem the flow of tears. She needed all the help she could get right now. ‘I got in before the gate closed, Miss Harrison. And it wasn’t my fault. I was ready for school in time but me mam’s not well and she sent me on a message for her. She was going to write me a note, explaining, but I would have been worse late.’

‘Worse late, Nightingale!’ The dark grey eyebrows nearly touched the matching grey hairline. ‘Your grammar is atrocious! Have you learned nothing in your nine years of schooling?’

‘I’m sorry, Miss.’

‘Being sorry won’t get you a job when you leave school, my girl. Now stop that blabbering and listen to me. You will bring a note from your mother in the morning, and if I’m convinced that you haven’t written it yourself, you’ll be excused punishment for being late. But you will be punished for your treatment of the English language. You will stay in the classroom during playtime this morning and this afternoon, and you will write out fifty sentences, each sentence containing one of these words.’ Miss Harrison reached for a pad lying on the side of her desk and began to write quickly. Then she tore the page off and held it out. ‘Read them to me and tell me if you understand their meaning.’

Laura stared down at the paper and read the words aloud. ‘Late, later, latest, lately and lateness.’ She looked up and kept her face a picture of innocence, even though she was seething inside. Fifty sentences meant twenty-five this morning and the same in the afternoon. She’d never do that many in fifteen minutes. And she wasn’t good at English, she’d make all sorts of mistakes with no one to copy off. But their Jenny could do it, she was always top of the class in English. ‘If I don’t get them all done, Miss, can I take them home and finish them there?’

‘If you put your mind to it, Nightingale, instead of staring out of the window, you should have no trouble writing short sentences in a matter of seconds. How about, “I was late today”? Or have you forgotten the reason you are standing in my office? Now, away to your classroom and I’ll expect you to report back here at half-past three with the finished work, all neat and tidy and without any spelling errors.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Now, go.’

Laura forced herself to turn slowly and leave the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Once in the corridor, though, she gave vent to her anger. Her fists clenched, she swore vengeance on her sister. It was through Jenny she was going to miss playtime and be a laughing stock in the classroom. She knew most of the girls disliked her and would get great pleasure out of seeing her humiliated. Well, they’d be in for a bigger treat tomorrow because there was no way she could do fifty sentences, let alone without a spelling error. And that would earn her the wrath of Miss Harrison and six strokes of the cane.

But luck was on Laura’s side when she got to her classroom and found herself sitting next to one of the cleverest girls in the class. She never had a kind word for the girl usually, always skitting her for being a brainbox. The task the headmistress had set would be no problem to this girl, a fact Laura’s crafty mind was quick to work out.
So as she lifted the lid of her desk she gave her a bright smile. ‘Hello, Helen.’

Helen’s brown eyes were suspicious. ‘What have you been up to?’

Laura made sure the teacher’s back was towards them before she answered. ‘Nothing. I was late getting in and I’ve got to bring a note tomorrow from me mam to say why.’ She closed the lid of the desk and slid the piece of paper across. ‘Could you write fifty short sentences using one of those words in each?’

Helen fingered the paper. ‘Of course I could, easy.’

‘I bet yer couldn’t do it in half-an-hour.’

The girl’s smile was smug. ‘I could, but then I’m not a dunce like you.’

Laura bit on her tongue. ‘Go on, show us then. I bet yer any money yer can’t do it.’

The teacher, Miss Baldwin, had been chalking on the blackboard and she now turned to face the class. ‘These are your sums for today. Copy them into your book and I want them completed and on my desk before the bell goes.’

Helen dutifully opened her exercise book and began to copy the sums in her neat writing. There were never any dirty fingermarks on her pages, nor any altered figures. She turned her head when Laura poked her on the arm. ‘Don’t be stupid, I can’t do them now.’

‘Yer’ll be finished with the sums before anyone else, so yer could do a few sentences. Just to prove to me that yer can do it.’

Casting doubt on her ability was something Helen wouldn’t tolerate. She finished her sums before Laura was halfway through hers, then, keeping a watchful eye on the teacher, she tore a page from the middle of her exercise book. After checking the words on the piece of paper Laura had put in front of her, she began to write. And when the bell went to announce the morning break, she slid the sheet of paper across to Laura with a supercilious grin on her
face. ‘There you are, twenty-five sentences. You could never do that, ye’re too thick.’

Laura smiled as she gazed down at the neatly written sentences. Once she had copied them into her exercise book, she was halfway there. And now Helen had given her an idea of what to write, all she had to do for the next twenty-five was to alter each sentence a little. Her troubles were over, and for that she’d let Helen get away with saying she was thick. Although, when you came to think about it, it was Helen who was thick for walking into her trap. ‘That’s great, that is. Yer are clever, Helen.’

The girls lined up to put their books on the teacher’s desk, then hurried out, eager to be away from the eagle eye of Miss Baldwin. Laura stayed at her desk waiting for the classroom to empty, and when one of her friends stopped to ask if she was coming, she explained that she’d been given lines to do by the headmistress and warned her not to let on to any of the other girls. Helen need never know she’d been duped because the lesson after playtime was history, and that was taken by Miss Hawkins in a different classroom. And the chances of sitting next to Helen again were remote, Laura would make sure of that.

History and geography were Laura’s worst subjects. They didn’t interest her and she could see no sense in them. After all, what good did it do you to know that the Battle of Hastings was fought in 1066? How many times in her life was she going to be asked that? No, when she left school in a couple of months she’d be too busy going out with boys, to the pictures or dancing, to give a thought to the likes of Henry VIII and all his blinking wives.

When Mary answered the knock on the door her eyes flew open in surprise. ‘Dad! I never expected to see you! Aren’t yer at work today?’

Joe Steadman took his cap off and ran his fingers nervously back and forth along the stiffened peak. ‘Yeah,
I’m working near here and thought I’d nip along and see yer in me dinner hour.’

Mary opened the door wider and waved a hand. ‘Come on in, don’t be standing on me step or the neighbours will think ye’re the club-man and I owe yer money.’ She closed the door behind him and bustled through to the kitchen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and make yer a sandwich. It won’t be much, mind, ’cos I haven’t got much in.’

‘There’s no need, lass, I’ve got me carry-out with me. But a cup of tea would go down a real treat.’ Joe took a small parcel from his pocket before sitting down. He gazed around the room, noting everything was neat and tidy, and spotlessly clean. He closed his eyes as a feeling of sadness descended on him. It must be nearly a year since he’d been in this house. His marrying Celia so soon after his wife died had caused a rift between him and his daughter which he bitterly regretted. She was his own flesh and blood, and he missed her so much, and Stan and the two girls. He wouldn’t have stayed away so long, but he knew the sight of him and his young wife upset and embarrassed Mary and he thought it was for the best. But his longing to see her had grown stronger over the months and today he could no longer resist that longing. He hadn’t been sure of the reception he’d get, but at least she hadn’t closed the door in his face.

In the kitchen Mary lit the gas-ring under the kettle then leaned against the sink to sort her thoughts out. She’d called her father all the names under the sun since her mam died, but when she saw him standing on her step, looking like a little boy who was hoping the person opening the door would be glad to see him, her heart went out to him. He was her dad and she still loved him. Although she’d never admitted it, for the last year there’d been a void in her life without him. She would never change her view that what he did was wrong, but she still had fond memories of the man who used to tickle her tummy to make her laugh, gave her piggy-backs and took her to the swings in the park. She
remembered how full of fun he always was and how happy their home had been.

The kettle gave out a piercing whistle and she turned the gas off before reaching for a cloth to wrap around the hot handle. ‘Won’t be long now, Dad. I’ll just let it brew for a few minutes because I know yer like yer tea strong enough to stand a spoon up in.’

‘Don’t worry, lass, I’ll drink it as it comes.’

He was sitting in Stan’s chair when Mary carried two steaming cups through, and she tutted. ‘Why don’t yer sit at the table and I’ll give yer a plate to put yer sandwiches on? Anyone would think we were poverty-stricken if they saw yer eating from the paper.’ She pulled a chair out and sat down. ‘Come on, sit at the table in a proper manner.’

‘I haven’t got long, lass, we only get an hour for dinner.’ He lowered his eyes to the plate. ‘I just wanted to see yer and make sure yer were all right. It’s been over a year now, and I have missed yer.’

‘Yeah, it’s been too long, Dad.’ Mary frowned as she watched him transfer the sandwiches from the paper to the plate. ‘In the name of God, Dad, what d’yer call them? They don’t look very appetising, and there’s not enough there to feed a bird.’

Joe Steadman flushed and averted his eyes. ‘I made them meself and I’m not very good at it.’ He lifted his head and attempted a smile. ‘I’ve never been house-trained, yer see.’

‘Yer don’t need to be house-trained when yer’ve got a wife to look after yer.’ Mary studied his face and it suddenly struck her that he was a lot thinner than he’d ever been. And there were a lot more lines on his face, adding years to his appearance. ‘Doesn’t she get out of bed to see to yer breakfast and carry-out?’

‘It’s not worth her getting up for that, I can manage meself.’

‘Yer’ve lost a lot of weight, Dad. It seems to me she doesn’t feed yer proper.’

‘She does her best, but she’s only young and yer can’t expect miracles.’

‘Miracles! A pan of scouse isn’t a miracle, Dad! Even our Laura and Jenny could make a really good stew if it came to the push. They help me at the weekend making the dinner and they’re not bad little cooks for their age. And they’re only schoolkids, Dad – a lot younger than the one you married. If they can do it, why can’t she?’

‘She wasn’t used to housework and she’s still learning.’ Joe couldn’t hold back the sigh that escaped. ‘She’ll be all right, given time.’

One part of Mary’s mind was telling her to mind her own business, another was reminding her that Joe was her father – and he had certainly gone down the nick since she last saw him. She couldn’t just ignore it. ‘So, while she’s learning, playing mothers and fathers, like, you’re going to starve to death? Buck yer ideas up, Dad, and be firm with her. Otherwise she’ll act the fool for the rest of her life. She’s a grown woman, for crying out loud, not a ruddy chit of a girl. She wanted to get married and be a housewife, so for heaven’s sake make her get on with it.’

Twelve months ago, Joe would have risen to his new wife’s defence, but not now, he was too weary. ‘I’ve tried, lass, but talking to her is like water off a duck’s back. She’s still a child, never quite grown up. And I’m beginning to think she never will.’

‘She never will, unless yer put yer foot down with her!’ Mary sighed with frustration. ‘My God, she knew a soft touch when she saw one.’ She knew she was walking on eggshells, but she couldn’t keep the words back. ‘Does she keep yer house like me mam used to?’

‘She does her best.’ Joe pushed the plate away and leaned his elbows on the table. ‘I’ll have to be more firm with her, that’s all.’

At that moment, Mary knew in her heart that her father rued the day when he’d married the young Celia. She’d
chased after him, flattered him and made him feel young again. Their honeymoon had been a whirl of pubs, pictures and dances, and had lasted three months. After that, Celia didn’t bother putting up a pretence and allowed her real self to surface. Her real self being lazy, brazen and man-mad.

‘Well, that’s your business, Dad. I won’t say any more except don’t be daft with her. It’s no good our falling out the first time we meet in twelve months.’ Mary laced her fingers and rested her chin on them. ‘Yer said yer were working near here, where exactly is that?’

Joe was a plumber and had been with the same firm since he left school. ‘We’re working on a school in Bedford Road, laying some new pipes and putting in a couple of wash-basins. It’s not a big job, we’ll be finished this week.’

Mary glanced at the clock. ‘It’s a good ten-minute walk, Dad, yer’d better watch the time.’

‘Yeah, I’ll just have another half a cup of tea, then I’ll be off.’

As she poured the tea, Mary asked, ‘Why don’t yer come tomorrow dinnertime and I’ll have something ready for yer? It won’t be a banquet, but even egg on toast would be better than those ruddy sandwiches yer’ve just had.’ She smiled across the table. ‘Anyway, I’d like to see yer again.’

Joe’s face showed his pleasure. ‘As long as yer don’t mind. I don’t want to put yer out, be any bother.’