Lights Out Liverpool Read Free

was here,’ Sheila said wistfully. ‘He’s coming home next Thursday, and y’know how much he loves a party.’
    That was another thing, thought Eileen. It wasn’t as if Sheila had her husband there for most of the time. Calum Reilly was in the Merchant Navy and away at least ten months of the year.
    ‘Never mind, luv.’ Eileen briefly stroked her sister’s untidy brown curls. ‘I’d better set to and help with the washing up, else I’ll have people calling me names behind me back.’
    She walked down the street to Mary Flaherty’s and found half a dozen women crowded in the tiny, steaming back kitchen washing and drying dishes, and twice as many in the living room having a quick ciggie before starting work again.
    ‘You lazy buggers,’ she cried. ‘And here was us thinking I was slacking off having a chat with our Sheila.’
    ‘Did y’see the way them Tutty children ate at the table, Eileen?’ demanded Agnes Donovan from Number 27. Aggie was a terrible gossip. No-one was safe from her vicious tongue and Eileen avoided the woman whenever she could. When Eileen shook her head, Aggie went on breathlessly, ‘Like little animals they were, stuffing food in their mouths with both hands like they’d never eaten in their lives before. Greedy little buggers! I’ve never seen anything like it,’ she finished in an aggrieved voice.
    ‘I don’t suppose they know any better, poor mites,’ Eileen said reasonably, but Aggie persisted. If it wasn’t the kids’ fault, then it was their mam’s.
    ‘I’m surprised Gladys had the gall to let them out,’ she complained. ‘Mrs Crean wouldn’t let her two mongol lads come because she doesn’t trust their table manners.’
    Eileen reckoned Phoebe Crean was probably keeping Harry and Owen out of sight of gawpers like Agnes Donovan, who seemed to get enjoyment from other people’s misfortunes. She ignored the woman and asked Mary Flaherty if there was anything she could do, ‘Seeing as how all the available help seems to have gone on strike.’
    ‘Once the kids have finished, you can clear the tables, Eileen,’ Mary told her, smiling. ‘Then give the cloths a shake and turn them over so they’re fresh for us when we sit down to our grub in about half an hour, like. Our Joey’s going to organise some games in the meantime.’ As Eileen was leaving, Mary followed her into the hall. ‘And oh, is your feller back yet with the ale?’
    ‘Not yet,’ Eileen replied. ‘He doesn’t finish work till two o’clock, then someone’s giving him a lift back in a car and they’re collecting it on the way.’
    Mary squeezed her hand. ‘He’s a dead good sport, your Francis, Joey’s really made up. We could never have afforded so much ale if Francis hadn’t been able to get it half price.’
    Outside, the children had become restless. Seemingly unaffected by the almost suffocating heat and satiated with food, they were hurling paper plates and streamers at each other. Some had already left their seats and were playing tick round and round the table.
    Eileen yelled, ‘Behave yourselves!’ and ducked to dodge a plate meant for the child beside her. She noticed Sheila grinning at her from the doorstep and made a face back. The Tuttys, isolated from the others on their separate chairs, were still gorging themselves. ‘And you two have had enough. You’ll be sick if you eat any more.’ They stared at her resentfully, their open mouths full of half-chewed bunloaf, as she began to clear the table. Joey Flaherty came up groaning, ‘This is the bit I’ve been dreading. Come on, youse lot, fetch your seats down this end and put ’em in a circle, and we’ll play musical chairs.’
    ‘Best of luck, Joey,’ Eileen smiled, shooing away a couple of cats who were about to jump on the table in search of scraps.
    In Number 3, Mr Singerman shoved his parlour window up as far as it would go and began to play a brisk march on the piano. A minute or so later, the music stopped